Around the World in Eight Centuries
by MagicSwede1965
Summary: Disillusioned by the modern world, two historians want to retreat back in time. Follows 'Absolution'.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _The ending of this one is in the works as I post the first several chapters; I thought I would share the opening with you now. I had a recent review that wondered how September 11 was going to play into my timeline, and for a while I had thought to write something that directly involved those tragic events; but in the end I chickened out: I didn't think I could do it the proper justice. But the date doesn't go unnoticed; this story is thus written in mind of all the innocents who lost their lives that day, and their survivors. Thanks to PDXWiz, jtbwriter, Harry2, BishopT and Kyryn, as always!  
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§ § § -- October 22, 2001

"Is this kitchen completely empty of food, my Leslie Rose?" Christian asked a little plaintively, rubbing his growling stomach. He came to the passthrough that connected with the living room, leaning on the sill to stare at his wife. As usual, the butterfly mobile that seven-year-old Brianna Harding had made in school and given to the Enstads (as a "late housewarming present," the little girl had claimed), which hung from a hook at the top of the passthrough, brushed Christian's dark hair, and he cast it a slightly impatient look and ducked aside, just a little, to avoid the built-in shelving that held knickknacks and some of the framed photographs from Leslie's old room at the main house.

Leslie looked up in surprise from checking the mail. "Why do you ask? Didn't you have breakfast before you came to pick me up?"

"No, I couldn't…there's nothing here," Christian said. "I think we have a mission to go on, before we do anything else."

Leslie grinned. "Even the usual?" The usual, for Christian and Leslie, tended to mean going back to bed for about an hour after he picked her up at the main house and brought her home with him, and they rarely, if ever, slept during that hour. This Monday, though, was an odd exception to that. They had planned a grocery-shopping trip, as it was likely to be least crowded in town just now, and Christian had been prowling the kitchen for something to snack on so he wouldn't choose more items than they needed out of hunger.

Christian grinned back. "Well, there's that, but at the moment we're running low on edibles. I can't even find an apple. Do you want to do that now?"

"I suppose. We could stop by the main house on the way. I had the oddest request from Brianna," Leslie mused. "Maureen told me I could refuse her if I wanted, but the more I thought about it, the bigger a kick I got out of the idea. Her class is having a Halloween party next week, and somebody seems to have told her the story of Myeko's Halloween party where I was the Invisible Woman. Now she wants me to talk to Father about doing the same thing for her."

Christian stared at her. "There's a story I never heard. Come to think of it, in light of where we are and the apparent nature of the story in question, maybe I shouldn't ask."

"You aren't spooked, are you, my love?" Leslie teased him, crossing the room to meet him on the other side of the passthrough where they had placed a large wicker chair, an end table with a good reading lamp, and a padded basket containing six or eight paperbacks. She took his hands and leaned in toward him, speaking all the while. "Did you ever think about how stimulating it might be, kissing the Invisible Woman?"

"I don't know," Christian said, his doubtful look already being spoiled by the gleam in his eyes. "I think I prefer seeing the lips I'm trying to kiss." She laughed softly and they did in fact share a long, deep kiss, which was quite rudely interrupted by the ringing phone just as they were really getting into it.

"Geez," groaned Leslie. "I can't imagine who that could be."

"Let's ignore it," Christian breathed, pulling her forward, and she willingly acceded. But then the answering machine picked up, and when the greeting they'd recorded together gave way to the caller's voice, they came apart again.

"Sorry, I hate to bug you, I know you don't get much time together with your weird work schedules," Myeko's voice came over the little speaker. "But Noelle's class at school is having their Halloween party next week, and every time she comes up with a costume idea, it turns out some other kid already thought of it. But I don't have enough functioning brain cells left to dream up something original, since I never get any sleep on account of feeding the piglet every hour on the hour…and Nick's been swamped by panicky pet owners with all kinds of sick critters. Alexander just makes fun of her. So I got a little desperate. I guess you're gonna hate me for this, Leslie, but I told Noelle that story about how you got Mr. Roarke to let you use a potion at one of my Halloween parties so you could be the Invisible Woman, and ever since then she's been pestering the blankety-blank out of me to ask you if she can use it too. Yeah, I know, I know, but you can shoot me later. Just give me a call back and let me know, huh? Hi to Christian…talk to you later on."

"_Herregud,"_ said Christian in astonishment. "Is she always that talkative?"

Leslie started to laugh. "Yep, always. What a ridiculous dilemma! Wait till poor Noelle finds out Brianna came up with the same idea. There goes that friendship."

Christian eyed her, then straightened up. "You know, I think maybe I'd better hear this story after all. You can tell me on the way to the grocery store, and while you're at it, you can explain Halloween to me. I've heard of it, but we don't celebrate it in Lilla Jordsö and I know almost nothing about it. And," he went on as they made their way out of the house, "when Myeko says 'the piglet', I never know if she means baby Dawn or one of Nick's patients." Again Leslie burst out laughing, even as she nodded agreement with him.

§ § § -- October 27, 2001

Standing in the clearing watching their second fantasizing party disembark from the plane, Roarke glanced at Leslie with a mysterious twinkle before introducing the couple. "Stephen and Marissa Karadimas, from Cambridge, Massachusetts."

"They look like Ivy League conservatives," Leslie observed.

"An extremely good guess," Roarke commended her. "They are both deeply involved in history: Stephen Karadimas is an ancient-history professor at Harvard, and his wife is the curator of a museum devoted to the same subject. Their entire lives are quite steeped in it, to the point that they often seem oblivious to the modern world around them." He cleared his throat and his expression grew grave. "Unfortunately, the frightful tragedy that occurred on September 11 served to jar them back into the present day, and I am afraid it may have driven them even farther toward their mutual first love."

Leslie turned to stare at him curiously. "Why, what's their fantasy?"

"You'll find the premise familiar: we've done this once before," Roarke said. "They wish to travel to nine different countries—but in the pasts of those countries, rather than the present. Their objective is to return to simpler times, when humankind did not focus on wholesale destruction of its fellows."

"I do remember the first time we did this," Leslie said. "The summer I was seventeen, right? Catherine Lightwood-Wynton had all the fun, and I got to babysit her son, Simon the Obnoxious, who came back to chase tornadoes shortly before Christian and I met."

Roarke chuckled softly. "Indeed," he said. "Never fear, you won't be required to play escort for any offspring this time, as Professor and Mrs. Karadimas are childless. I think you will have a much better time with this fantasy." He winked in response to Leslie's grin, accepted his glass and raised it in the familiar toast. "My dear guests! I am Mr. Roarke, your host. Welcome to Fantasy Island!"

‡ ‡ ‡

Within the hour Stephen and Marissa Karadimas were seated in the chairs in front of Roarke's desk, while Roarke took his own chair and Leslie settled beside him, having appropriated the chair from the computer desk. "If you'll indulge me," Roarke said to their guests, "I should like to hear exactly what you have in mind for this fantasy, and why you wish to have it granted."

"Oh, we've always been into history," Marissa said with a smile. Both she and Stephen were of Greek descent, with the dark hair and olive skin often characteristic of the Mediterranean peoples; they were still in their conservative attire, clad in button-down shirts, khaki pants and loafers. They appeared to be in their early fifties; both had just a touch of gray in their hair. "In fact, that's how Steve and I met. We were in the same anthropology class, and we found ourselves paired together for a project. It was our love of history that brought about our love for each other."

Leslie smiled. "How romantic," she said appreciatively. Marissa beamed.

Steve Karadimas chuckled shortly. "Quite honestly, Mr. Roarke, we never had much use for modern-day conveniences. Oh, I don't mean we live like Cro-Magnon peoples, but we just don't see the need to rush out and buy the latest electronic gadgets. We have computers only because they're needed in our work, but otherwise there's no point. We don't even own a microwave oven."

"I see," said Roarke. His tone was neutral; Leslie wondered what he really thought of these folks, who seemed willingly behind the times.

"I expect people look at us as eccentric," Marissa said, "but we prefer it this way. We live quiet lives and don't have a lot of meaningless interruptions from ringing cellular phones or inane entertainment-news programs. We haven't gone out to see a movie in almost twenty-five years, and we don't watch television, except for the news from time to time. We just pay our bills and live nice quiet lives."

"But then September 11 happened," Steve put in, scowling. "Three thousand needless, tragic deaths, at the hands of narrow-minded fanatics. Two of those planes flew right out of our own Logan Airport, Mr. Roarke. A colleague of mine was aboard the first one to hit the World Trade Center. Marissa and I spent the day reeling from the shock. Nothing in history could have prepared us for those terrible images."

"What's happened to mankind?" Marissa asked, staring at her folded hands in her lap and shaking her head. "Why are people so cruel to one another? What's the world coming to these days, that this kind of thing can happen?" She looked up. "I don't think I want to live in a world where such things are possible."

"That's why we're here," Steve said. "We want to get at least a glimpse of simpler times. Maybe we'll just pick a place, go back and stay there. No crazed maniacs who live to destroy everyone and everything that doesn't fit their rigid mindset. No mass death and large-scale destruction, and no rejoicing by savages over those deaths."

Marissa nodded. "Exactly. We want a refuge in history."

A silence fell in the room then, while Roarke considered the pair and they stared expectantly back at him. After some thirty seconds, Roarke smiled, ever so slightly, and Leslie knew immediately that they were in for a very interesting experience.

"You will find, Professor and Mrs. Karadimas, that history has its share of savage experiences not entirely unlike that of last month's attacks," Roarke said quietly. "Surely you two, of all people, are well aware of that. Your comprehensive knowledge of history, with its many wars and skirmishes—all the way from unnamed clans of the Ice Age to nations during World War II—should tell you far better than I can how futile it truly is to find an age devoid of brutality and cruelty."

Steve sat up sharply and leaned forward, glaring at Roarke. "Tell me, Mr. Roarke, how many of those wars and skirmishes you cite had as their goal destruction for its own sake. At least there was some stated purpose to them. The only reason for the World Trade Center attacks was to celebrate hate. Pure, mindless, all-consuming hate. No, we want to go back. I suppose we could demand our money back and leave, but we're not doing that—you can't get out of this deal that easily."

"Steve, take it easy," Marissa said, laying a hand on his arm. She looked at Roarke and Leslie. "I apologize…it's just that Steve's colleague was a good friend, and it's been very hard on him. He doesn't mean to be abrupt."

"We quite understand, Mrs. Karadimas," Roarke assured her. "Since you seem so determined to go through with this, then I will grant your fantasy." Steve brightened for the first time, and Marissa's face shone with excitement.

"Which countries do you want to go back to?" Leslie asked curiously.

Steve and Marissa looked at each other and then grinned at her, like a couple of kids about to descend on a mountain of Christmas presents. "We spent a lot of time talking that over," Marissa said, "and we had a terrible time narrowing it down. Mr. Roarke was very generous in telling us we could choose nine countries, and it took us weeks to decide which ones interested us the most. But we finally did. Naturally, we couldn't have a fantasy like this without visiting the Roman Empire!"

"Right," said Steve, "and Marissa wants to meet Queen Elizabeth I. Plus, I always wanted to see the impact of the discovery of the rainbow gems in Arcolos in 1536."

"And just for fun, we're looking forward to meeting the Polynesians who first lived in Hawaii, before they were discovered by Europeans," Marissa went on, "and it would be a treat to drop in on the Aztecs in old Mexico. While we're speaking of aboriginal tribes, we also want to see Australia before that was settled by Europeans, and the same for a Native American tribe. My favorites have always been the Narragansetts actually." She giggled like a little girl, and Leslie couldn't help grinning back.

"Russia under the czars is irresistible," Steve put in eagerly, "particularly Ivan the Terrible or Peter the Great. And…uh, we had another one, Marissa…"

Marissa nodded vigorously. "Yes, it's to see the origins of Lilla Jordsö. We always thought those Vikings who settled that country were amazingly intrepid." Neither she nor Steve saw Leslie sit up in astonishment, or the look she traded with Roarke.

"That," Roarke said as if they hadn't mentioned this last at all, "is an intriguing list of choices. I see no reason we can't accommodate you and send you to all nine countries; you should be aware, however, that this will mean your fantasy will last throughout the coming week and end on Sunday evening, November 4."

"Perfect," said Steve and Marissa together. Steve added, "When can we start?"

"There are some final preparations to be made," Roarke said, "so if you will kindly return here in two hours, we will explain how your fantasy will work, and then send you on your around-the-world jaunt."

The Karadimases eagerly agreed, showered Roarke with profuse thanks and finally left the house. Leslie and Roarke looked at each other again, and then she suddenly grinned widely. "Lilla Jordsö, huh? Wow, Father, I can't wait to tell Christian about this one!"

Roarke laughed and arose. "Before you do, there are a few favors I must ask of you, so hold that thought for now. I have a few last-minute calibrations to perform, and you'll need to gather a number of accessories for me."


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- October 27, 2001

One of those accessories, Leslie discovered, was a Viking ship; the only example of which she was aware was a highly detailed model that Christian had built as a young teenager. He had justifiable pride in the thing, and she thought it would make a perfect prop for the time-travel room. So, on a somewhat rushed drive around the eastern end of the island collecting assorted odds and ends, she dropped in at Christian's office and was glad to find him in, writing program code on his computer. He looked up when she came in and brightened. "Well, hello, my Rose! What brings you here?"

She kissed him and perched in the chair beside his desk. "I have an enormous favor to ask you, my love. We have a big fantasy this weekend, one that's going to stretch through next weekend, and I need to borrow something, if it's okay with you."

"Oh? What?" Christian asked curiously.

"The ship model you built when you were fourteen," Leslie said hopefully. "I know it's a big thing to ask, and I normally wouldn't…but it would be perfect for the purpose, and the work you did on it was so meticulous, it seems a shame not to show it off."

Christian grinned, a wry, knowing grin. "When in need, use flattery," he joked, and she grinned back a little sheepishly. "What sort of fantasy is this that requires its use, then?"

"I'd tell you now, but I'm sort of in a hurry. I have to be back at the main house in forty-five minutes, and I still have three more things to get. If you agree, I'll have just enough time to run home and pick it up."

He settled back in his chair and considered it for a moment. "Well, all right. I'll just have to contain my curiosity. I won't be able to join you and Mr. Roarke for either lunch or dinner, since I have an appointment at the pineapple plantation that will take all day. Perhaps tomorrow you can tell me. Just be careful, please."

"I promise, my love," she said, kissing him again. "It'll come back to you in the exact same condition it went out. Thank you, Christian, we both really appreciate this."

He smiled. "Be careful with yourself, too, my Rose. I'll get in touch with you later when I can…possibly from home tonight, all right?"

"Sounds good," she agreed, rising. "Frankly, you're going to enjoy this story when I have a chance to tell you. See you later, my darling, and thanks again." Christian stood up too, caught her long enough for a last kiss, and watched her rush out.

His employees had been watching. "What was that all about?" Julianne asked.

"Oh, she needed something for a fantasy," Christian said, sitting again. "It sounds like something very interesting. I almost wish we weren't going to be so busy today…it'll drive me crazy wondering. So what time do you have to get to the ferry, then? I can drop you off when I go to the plantation…"

"You're very fortunate," Roarke remarked dryly to his daughter when she came in with a couple of bags and a cardboard box that had been carefully padded with towels. "You'll have just enough time to decorate accordingly. What do you have in the box?"

"Something fragile," said Leslie. "If you'll help me, Father, we can get it done quicker."

Roarke raised an eyebrow but smilingly acceded; he began to remove items from one of the bags while she set the box on a table in a corner and gingerly lifted out the contents. He was still examining the Russian balalaika when he became aware of Leslie fussing in the corner, and turned to see her hovering over something on the table. "What are you doing?" he asked, going over to satisfy his curiosity. His eyes widened at sight of the Viking-ship model. "That's exquisite, Leslie! Where did you find it?"

"At home," she said and grinned at him. "It's Christian's—he built it himself when he was fourteen, and he was generous enough to lend it to us for this fantasy."

"Amazing," said Roarke, examining the model with admiration. "The detail is minute; he must have spent months working on this. An excellent touch, child. Hurry, we have very little time now…our guests are impatient."

By the time the Karadimases appeared to start their fantasy, the decorating was long finished and Roarke had dispatched Leslie on another errand. Steve and Marissa were now dressed in jeans and T-shirts, and looked more than eager to begin. "Right on time," Roarke said and gestured at the time-travel room. "If you will…"

The couple stepped into the room and stopped short, staring around it in wonder. There were small tables scattered around: one held a balalaika, another a grass skirt and a strange wooden idol, a third a totem pole and a small drum. Hanging on one wall was a painting of ancient Tenochtitlán; mounted opposite this was a boomerang, just over a table that held a didgeridoo; and in the corner was yet another table that bore a model of a Viking ship around two feet in length. The corner opposite this boasted a dress form on which was draped an ornate gown with fussy trimmings and a huge neck wisk. One last table sported a bust of a stern-looking Julius Caesar, and suspended from the ceiling was a small padded basket full of loose rainbow gems. Marissa gasped softly. "This is incredible, Mr. Roarke!"

"Where did all these things come from?" Steve asked rhetorically, moving deeper into the room and examining the boomerang and didgeridoo. "And they all have numbers." Next to, or attached to, each item was a small placard bearing a number from 1 to 9.

"These are the symbols of the countries you will be visiting during the course of your fantasy," Roarke explained. "The numbers denote the order in which you will travel to those places. You will see that the gown in the corner bears the number one: that is where you will begin, in the England of Queen Elizabeth's day. You will spend a full day in each locale; when that day is up, you will automatically find yourself in this room, and you will then move to the next object in your trip. So when you return from England, you will go to the painting there on the wall, which bears the number two." Steve and Marissa nodded comprehension. "Are there any questions?"

"Yes. If we decide one of these places is to our liking, how do we remain?" Steve asked bluntly.

Roarke regarded him. "I don't believe that would be wise, Professor Karadimas. However—if you are still adamant about wishing to remain in the past after you have visited all nine countries, you may raise the question at that time, and I will answer it." Steve looked as if he might have protested, but there was something in either Roarke's look or his tone of voice that kept him silent. "Are you prepared?"

Marissa pointed out a small pouch she wore around her waist. "Essentials. Even we know we still have to brush our teeth, so I've brought brushes and toothpaste. I think otherwise we should be fine."

Roarke smiled at that. "Very well. If you will both go to stand beside the dress form there, I will leave the room. Once the door is closed, please close your eyes and count slowly to five…and your fantasy will have begun."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Steve said excitedly. "Come on, Marissa, let's not waste any more time." He grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the dress form in the corner; Roarke smiled once more.

"I wish you a good journey," he said quietly and departed. The moment the door closed, Steve and Marissa looked at each other with huge grins, then joined hands, squeezed their eyes shut and counted aloud to five…

"Pray tell, my good sir and madam, have you something in your eye?" asked a voice, and Steve and Marissa both opened their eyes and looked around them. They were standing in a massive stone hall draped with large, heavy tasseled tapestries; there was quite a crowd therein, all dressed quite oddly in either voluminous gowns in the women's cases or doublets and knee-length breeches in the men's. Most of the women wore high, stiff neck wisks. Marissa and Steve looked at each other; they were dressed the same, and so was the person who had spoken to them—a thin, somewhat pockmarked man with a wispy mustache and a leering manner about him. "You seem befuddled, I dare say."

"Somewhat," Steve said, regaining his composure first. "Might we inquire as to whether Her Majesty is in residence at the moment?"

"But of course. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Sir Robert Dudley. You must be the merchants from Canterbury; she has been awaiting you. Come with me and I shall have you announced." Steve and Marissa looked at each other, shrugged in unison and followed the man, weaving among pairs and groups of fussily-dressed humans for some distance until they abruptly found themselves facing a regal, stern-faced but attractive woman with hair of a surprising, rich red color and piercing dark gray eyes, sitting on a heavily jewel-encrusted throne. Marissa's eyes widened and she immediately dropped into a deep curtsy; Steve, a beat late, bowed till he stood at a right angle from the waist.

"Your Gracious Majesty," Marissa said reverently. "It is our great honor that you have received us today."

"Indeed it is, Your Majesty," Steve said, taking his cues from her. England had been one of her choices, and he was obviously a little bewildered by it all, not to mention highly self-conscious in the period clothing.

Queen Elizabeth I scrutinized Marissa with approval, Steve with a bit of reserve. "I am told you bear news from Canterbury," she said expectantly.

"We do, Your Majesty," Marissa said. "Our ships have but recently returned from the Spice Islands with many wonderful delicacies. As ever, my lord and I have set aside the most pleasing and tasteful of these spices and gems for Your Majesty to choose at her leisure."

"We have?" Marissa heard Steve mumble in perplexity. She gave him a discreet poke in the back, and he cleared his throat. "We have, Your Majesty," he said obediently.

Elizabeth gave a slow nod. "I am pleased," she said. "You will have these brought to me within the day; there is much pressing business to attend to, and I fear my choices must needs wait for a quiet moment. If I find these items pleasing to the eye and the palate, I shall renew your official charter and inform Sir Robert Cecil accordingly." A movement caught her eye and she noticed Dudley lasciviously eyeing a girl nearby who looked a bit young yet to be suffering his attentions. "Dudley, my dear, since you appear to have no further duties at this moment, you will escort these good people back to the entry, so that they do not lose themselves in this rabbit warren my father so loved." She smiled wryly.

"We are ever grateful, Your Majesty," Marissa said with another curtsy. Hastily Steve bowed, and Elizabeth nodded. Dudley stepped forward and ushered them along.

"You were fortunate," he said. "Queen Bess was in a good mood today. You, my dear fellow, were rather late in making your obeisance to her."

Steve gave him a look that simply made him smile frostily. "I pay my respects as does any good citizen of England," Steve said a little heatedly.

"Next time, pay them with greater haste," Dudley retorted. "I bid you good day." He left them in the same spot where they'd arrived, and disappeared into the crowd.

Marissa looked worriedly at Steve as they started out into a narrow, crowded street. "Honey, we'd better be careful of him," she said in a low voice. "He's tricky."

"Yeah, well…" Steve broke off when he took his first breath of the outdoor air and almost choked. "My God! The stench in this place! I know they didn't have street sweepers, but you'd think they could at least make the effort." The gutters were clogged with all sorts of rotting garbage, from the mundane to the unspeakably foul, which gave off a persistent and horrific odor that made Marissa gag.

"Maybe we could…_aaaaccck!!_…come up with a system," she managed to say, between swallows that were meant to keep her breakfast in her stomach.

"In a day?" Steve grunted. "We're historians, honey, not civil engineers. Let's just get out of here and try to find a reasonable inn to stay in."

By late that afternoon even Marissa was disillusioned. Everything was crowded, primitive and cramped, not to mention astonishingly filthy; the rich were worse misers than any they had ever encountered, and the poor were worse than destitute. Rats and mice ran rampant; insects were everywhere; and dogs, cats and even children ran loose in the streets, the latter often begging passersby for food or money. The noise and smell were overwhelming. "It's a miracle," Steve said as they ambled slowly toward the London Bridge, "that this city made it intact to the twenty-first century. I'd be inclined to move the Great Fire up about a century, just to clean this place up and make a fresh start."

Marissa giggled softly and tugged him a little closer; she had her arm linked with his. "I can't blame you. Oh, Steve, look! Isn't that amazing?" They had just reached a point near the Thames from which they could see the fabled London Bridge; lining it, as on any ordinary street, were stacked Tudor houses, looking as if they might teeter too far in the wrong direction at any moment and topple into the river. "That had to be a bulwark of the rich. It must have been quite the privilege to live on that bridge, and I'm sure only the very wealthiest could have afforded it."

"If there's an inn there, I vote we move into it," Steve said. "Or I would, if I didn't think we'd roll over in bed, right out a window and into the water."

Marissa shrugged. "Better that than being crawled on by rats and bugs. It's a lovely city—at least from a distance—and a fascinating time, but you know, I really don't think we want to stay here."

"In other words, it's a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there," Steve said with a grin. "Yeah, I have to agree with you there, honey. I don't know when the day's going to be up, but I hope it's not much longer. We have eight more places to check out, and one of them's bound to be ideal for us."


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- October 27, 2001

Roarke and Leslie, just finishing supper, were both utterly astonished when Maureen and Myeko appeared on the porch, each with a little girl in tow. "Hi, guys, what's up?" asked Leslie curiously.

"Problems," Maureen said, exchanging a rueful glance with Myeko. "I guess it's really our fault. Mr. Roarke, could we sit down?"

"Of course," Roarke said, gesturing at the two empty chairs. "What's wrong?"

Myeko settled down in the nearest chair; Maureen took Christian's usual seat. Noelle stood behind her mother with a look on her face that suggested she was about to start bawling any moment; Brianna, standing beside Maureen, kept shooting her glares. "Well," Maureen said, "we goofed. Brianna and Noelle have the same second-grade teacher, and their class is holding a Halloween party next Wednesday. All the kids are dressing up. The trouble is that there'll be prizes for costumes. And naturally, Brianna and Noelle came to me and Myeko looking for help."

"Right," Myeko said. "I've been really frantic, you know, because Dawn eats like a horse, and it seems like all I ever do is feed her, in between trying to write my column and getting it e-mailed to the paper. I couldn't come up with any ideas, especially after Noelle shot down every suggestion I made by telling me some other kid already had dibs on it. So I finally got desperate and told her about Leslie's idea for my one Halloween party back in high school." She turned red.

Roarke's expression cleared instantly, and he and Leslie exchanged a look of vivid memory. "I see," he said, amusement glinting from his dark eyes. "Leslie, am I correct in assuming that you were eventually going to come to me about this?"

"I was, yes," Leslie said, "but circumstances dictated otherwise."

"How so?" Roarke inquired.

"Brianna wanted to do the same thing," Maureen explained, making his eyes go wide. "I told her to go and ask Leslie herself if she really wanted to do it, and I was a little surprised when she actually did."

"She stole my idea!" Noelle wailed suddenly at Roarke. "Everybody else stole all my other ideas. Now she did it too!"

"I thought of it first," Brianna said angrily, hands on hips, glaring at her. "You're the one who tried to steal my idea, Noelle Tokita."

"I did not!" shrieked Noelle and burst into tears. Maureen and Myeko gave each other helpless looks; Roarke looked a bit startled; and Leslie sighed gently and put a finger to her lips for her friends' benefit.

Then she put one arm around Brianna and extended the other hand to the sobbing Noelle. "Come here, honey," she coaxed, and Noelle moved slowly to Leslie's side, still crying energetically but allowing Leslie to slide her arm around her too. "You two have been best friends just about all your lives. Are you going to let this make you enemies now?"

"But it's not fair, Miss Leslie," Brianna protested. "I _know_ I thought of it first. I asked you all the way back a whole week ago, 'member?" Hearing that, Noelle wailed louder.

"Yikes," murmured Myeko. "I called the next day on Noelle's behalf…" Maureen gave her a sympathetic look.

"I know you did," Leslie said to Brianna, "but that doesn't mean Noelle stole your idea. Did you tell her that's what you wanted to do?"

"No," said Brianna, bewildered, shaking her blonde head.

Leslie smiled. "Then if you didn't tell her, how could she steal your idea? She didn't know about it till her mother told her. Sweetie, I know we're on Fantasy Island, but even here, Noelle can't read your mind."

"But I still thought of it first!" Brianna insisted indignantly. Noelle's crying graduated into sobbing.

"Hold on a minute here, Brianna," Leslie said, turning then to Noelle and patting the child's shoulder. "Sweetie, it's not the end of the world. There's a whole lot of things you could do for Halloween, you know."

"But I wanted to be thaaaaaat…" bawled Noelle, dissolving into a new round of misery and sobs. Myeko, red-faced, rested her elbows on the table and dropped her head into her hands; Maureen grinned. Leslie swallowed back a laugh of her own and shifted her arm to stroke Noelle's hair.

"I know, honey, I know," she soothed the child. "Seems like all your ideas got taken by your whole class, huh?" Noelle nodded tearfully. "Tell me, what other ideas did you have? I bet you had a whole bunch of good ones."

"I was gonna be a princess, but Cissy Jakes said she was gonna be one. So I was gonna be a skeleton, and then Andrew Lord said he was gonna be one. And then I was gonna be…" She rattled off four or five more ideas, surprising Leslie. "And then I thought I could be the Invis'ble Lady, and nobody else knows you and Mr. Roarke, so it was gonna be the best idea ever. And then…" Noelle hiccuped and they could see she was about to break down again. "And then she…"

"Honey, she didn't steal it," Leslie said, very gently. "Brianna thought of it, and then you thought of it, but you didn't know she did, and she didn't know you did."

Noelle looked pleadingly at Leslie through streaming eyes. "If she really thought of it first, Miss Leslie, does that mean she gets to do it and I gotta think of something else all over again? There's no more things I can be!" Again she started to cry.

"Oh, sweetheart, sure there are," Leslie soothed her, rubbing her upper arm. "There's all kinds of things you can be. If you and your mom talk about it…"

"She can't," Noelle cried. "Mommy's always feeding Dawn. I wanted a sister, but she's such a pig, that's all she ever does is eat, eat, eat! Mommy never has any time to do anything except feed Dawn. Daddy Nick's busy with all the sick animals. And I'm not even talking to dumb old Alexander anymore. He's gonna be a pirate and he said Mr. Roarke'd never ever let me use any of his potions, but he's just a dumb boy and I'm so mad at him I wish I could punch him. Please, Miss Leslie, I wish you'd help me."

Leslie shot Roarke a glance to gauge his reaction to Noelle's remark about him; he had a wry little smile on his handsome features. Myeko looked a little stricken by Noelle's impassioned monologue, and Leslie winked at her. "What about your teacher?"

Noelle shook her head. "Can't. We gotta think of our own costumes."

Roarke cleared his throat suddenly, drawing everyone's attention. "Perhaps I have a solution," he said thoughtfully. "Aside from the fact that you needed my permission to use a potion in the first place…"

Brianna, with a horrified look, broke in, "You mean you won't let us, Mr. Roarke?"

"So there," Noelle lashed out, scrubbing at her tear-streaked face. Gently Leslie shushed her, patting her shoulder.

"Oh, now, I never said that, Brianna," Roarke said indulgently. "Did I?"

"I guess not," Brianna said uncertainly.

Roarke smiled. "Then ask."

Brianna stared at him, startled; Noelle, seeing her caught off guard by Roarke's unexpected remark, took quick advantage. "Mr. Roarke, please, please, can I use the invis'ble-lady potion, pleeeeeeeeease?" At that, Leslie, Maureen and Myeko all stared at each other and then at Roarke with wide eyes.

Brianna gawked at her, shock and indignation blooming in tandem. "Hey!" she cried. "That's not fair, Noelle Tokita!"

"It is too, Brianna Harding!" Noelle retorted smugly.

"Hey, hey," Leslie broke in. "Calm down, you two." She grinned at Roarke. "Since you've now been officially asked, Father, what's the verdict?"

Roarke grinned back and said, "It's been quite some time since anyone asked for that particular fantasy, but it won't take much to mix a small dose of the potion. I have nothing against its use. But before this destroys a close friendship, let me make a suggestion."

Leslie, Maureen and Myeko looked at one another again. "Lay it on us, Mr. Roarke," Myeko suggested hopefully.

Roarke chuckled at her terminology. "Is it really necessary for every child in the class to be dressed differently?"

"There's gonna be prizes, Mr. Roarke," Brianna said. "The prettiest costume, the scariest, the most original…"

Leslie looked up with interest. "Did their teacher ever attend one of your parties, Myeko? You did the same thing." They all laughed.

"And I want to win one," Noelle broke in. "I never win anything. Our teacher gives out lots of prizes for lots of things. Brianna won three already. She won a spelling bee, and then she won for best printing, and then she won for making the best drawing. I never win, and this time I want to be a winner."

"Perhaps you can both win," Roarke said with a little smile, "if you two are willing to share the prize. Is there any reason you can't both be invisible ladies for your class party?"

Noelle and Brianna looked at each other blankly; clearly this had never occurred to them. Maureen and Myeko followed their daughters' lead for a moment, then peered at Roarke in disbelief. "Why didn't we think of that?" Maureen groaned.

"You were a little too close to the situation," Roarke said. "If I make up a small dose of the potion, one for Brianna and one for Noelle, then perhaps they could go as the Invisible Twins. You would certainly be original, don't you think?"

"Aside from the invisible part," Leslie agreed, "everybody knows about the Invisible Man and like that, but this would be the first time there were ever Invisible Twins."

"But we don't look like twins," said Noelle, eyes wide. "We have different color hair, and twins have to have the same color hair."

"That doesn't matter," Leslie told her with a conspiratorial grin. "Nobody can see you. And since they can't, you can wear lookalike outfits to school on the day of the party, and you really would look like twins."

Brianna and Noelle gaped at her, their faces beginning to light up; then they stared at each other in delight. "Wow!" cried Brianna. "That's an awesome idea, Miss Leslie!"

"Yeah, let's be twins!" Noelle exclaimed excitedly.

"This is what I get for having a pig for a daughter," Myeko said, shaking her head ruefully. "Noelle's right—seems like I never do anything except feed Dawn. Which is why I left her with Nick while I brought Noelle over here. I really needed a break. Gosh, Mr. Roarke, that was inspired. Thanks loads for taking that problem off our hands."

"Thanks from me too," Maureen agreed. "Now all we have to do is go shopping for twin outfits for these two imps. And good luck to us finding something they both like." She rolled her eyes and the adults laughed again.

§ § § -- October 28, 2001

Steve and Marissa Karadimas, a little disoriented, looked around the time-travel room, which was lit only by a nightlight beside the door that connected to Roarke's study, and wondered what time it was. They'd been sleeping and had been rudely awakened by their transport back here. "Must be time to go to the next destination," Steve yawned.

"In the middle of the night?" Marissa said, rubbing her eyes. "We're going to have one very sleepless week at this rate. Where are we supposed to go next?"

Stumbling a little in the dim light and their lingering drowsiness, they hunted around till they found their second destination: the Aztec Empire of Mexico. "Oh, how exotic," Marissa murmured.

"And nice and warm and tropical," Steve agreed. "If it's night when we get there, we can pick a likely-looking place and catch some more sleep before we start checking out the culture. Guess I'm ready if you are. How'd Roarke say to do this again?"

"Close our eyes and count slowly to five," Marissa said, and they stood in front of the painting of Tenochtitlán, closed their eyes, and counted…

…and found themselves in the middle of a moonlit plain, abruptly drenched in humid heat. They wore almost nothing at all, and looked at each other in startled surprise and a little embarrassment. Their attire, such as it was, was made from the skin of some animal they couldn't place; Marissa was clad in a breastband and very short skirtlike garment, while Steve wore no more than a loincloth.

"I keep forgetting about the period clothing," Steve muttered, staring at himself. Both he and Marissa were out of shape, being the inactive scholars they were and in middle age to boot. Marissa surveyed him and smirked.

"You look fine to me," she said, and he grinned at her.

"Well, let's see if we can find some shelter," he said. "I think the first order of business is getting some more sleep, or we'll never be alert enough to get a good look at this place."

They turned to move and were immediately stopped in their tracks by the sight of the magnificent old city before them. Tenochtitlán was totally unlike its successor, Mexico City, in every imaginable way. Laid in a shallow bowl in the terrain and built on a lake, it reminded them to some small degree of Venice, bisected and crisscrossed as it was with waterways and canals. A great pyramid rose in the center of the city; the air was clear, and the design and architecture were open and uncrowded. The moon silvered everything, lending an aura of peaceful enchantment to the scene.

"Now we could live here," Marissa murmured. "It's simply lovely."

"Yeah, we could," Steve mused. "No snow, warm weather year-round, plenty of water views, and an attractive, unpolluted city. I mean…I really liked Mexico City when we visited back in '85, but this is just amazing. Considering the culture that built this place—the engineering feats must have been remarkable. And people think the Aztecs were primitive. You're right, we may just have found our little paradise. Come on, honey."


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- October 28, 2001

Leslie rolled over in bed and blinked awake, wondering why it seemed so bright in the room. She looked at the clock and then squinted in disbelief; it was blinking, and the readout said 7:04. She sat up in bed and shook her head curiously.

Roarke appeared in the doorway. "Good, you're awake," he said. "Did Christian call last night?"

Leslie shook her head. "No, I guess he didn't get the chance. The power must have blinked or something last night."

Roarke noticed her clock and nodded. "So it would appear. I myself overslept a bit. It's actually nearly eight-thirty—if you hurry, we should have just enough time for breakfast before we must get on with the day's business. I must make an early check on the Windom fantasy, but before anything else I need to double-check the lock on the time-travel room." He sighed gently. "Perhaps we depend a trifle too much on electricity."

"Gosh, Father, you sound so old-fashioned," Leslie teased him.

"Do I indeed?" retorted Roarke with an amused glint in his dark eyes. "You'd better hurry, child." He smiled at her and left.

Leslie used her watch to reset her clock, then swiftly dressed and made the bed before hurrying downstairs. Mariki was already putting out breakfast and looking harried. "I was late," she said, huffing slightly. "My clock was completely off, Mr. Roarke…I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Leslie broke in, taking her chair. "The power must have gone off last night; we had to reset clocks here too. What's for breakfast?"

"French toast, scrambled eggs, sliced ham and mango slices," Mariki told her, "and you'd better have a nice big glass of that orange juice and some of all those items, Miss Leslie. Where's Prince Christian?"

"Mariki, he hasn't been a prince for almost three months now," Leslie reminded her. Christian's title had been officially revoked as of August 1, and he had been more surprised than anyone else to find out how hard it was for him to adjust to being just Christian Enstad. But he wasn't the only one having trouble, intentional or not: Mariki continued to refer to him as "Prince Christian", and Julianne and Jonathan still called him "Boss Prince". Those who had anything more than a nodding acquaintance with Christian and Leslie, except for their friends, usually forgot and addressed him as "Your Highness"—and Christian himself tended to forget and thus failed to correct them. Roarke had told him to give it plenty of time, saying he'd been a prince for forty-three years and a commoner for only these few short months; thus it was to be expected that the readjustment would be major.

"I can't call him Christian," Mariki told Leslie. "You're Miss Leslie, your father is Mr. Roarke, and your husband is Prince Christian. What should I call him?"

"Mr. Enstad would do," Leslie said.

Mariki snorted. " 'Mr. Enstad' doesn't fit him," she said. "As far as I'm concerned, Prince Christian he is and Prince Christian he remains. Where is he, anyway?"

"Probably having breakfast at home, the way he usually does on Sunday mornings," Leslie said. "If you're looking to feed him, then put the leftovers in containers and I'll give it to him next time I see him." Mariki snorted and left the veranda. Grinning, Leslie loaded her plate and filled her juice glass, then looked up at Roarke. "Was the lock okay?"

Roarke frowned. "I had to call the locksmith who installed it," he said. "I am told he should be out here by noon at the latest. It's quite fortunate that the Karadimas fantasy is not scheduled to end for another week, or we should be in quite deep trouble." He frowned, thinking. "Once he has reset it, though, I really should make a check on that fantasy. They are supposed to be in Tenochtitlán today, and I want to be certain things are going as they should be."

After breakfast Roarke left to check the Windom fantasy, and Leslie went in to look at phone messages and e-mail. She was quite surprised to find none of the latter; in fact, she couldn't access either her own account or the business one that both she and Roarke had the password to, and frowned in concern. On a hunch, she took a look at the website and was dismayed to find that she could bring up only the main page. The sub-pages were all down. "What on earth…?" she mumbled, then grinned to herself. "On the other hand, what a great excuse for Christian to be here awhile." She hopped out of the chair and went to the phone, hitting 464, the number to his office.

"Enstad Computer Services, Julianne speaking," came the answer after the first ring.

"Hi, Julianne, it's Leslie. Is Christian around? The island website's gone haywire, and I was hoping he could come over and fix it," Leslie said.

"Oh wow, Miss Leslie, no…Boss Prince isn't here." Julianne giggled. "But when he gets back, I'll tell him you called. That's one problem I bet he won't mind fixing."

"Brat," said Leslie good-naturedly. "Maybe I'll just get him on his cell."

"No, don't bother," Julianne said. "He left it here—took off in such a hurry that he must've forgotten it. Probably gonna be another hectic day here at the old salt mine."

Leslie sighed softly. "Oh," she said. "Well, okay, thanks, Julianne." She hung up and made a face, taking Roarke's chair. _Poor Christian,_ she thought_. Wonder if we'll see him today, any more than we did yesterday?_ They were going to have one very well-deserved weekend… She smiled with anticipation and started going through the phone messages.

The locksmith appeared just before eleven, about ten minutes after Roarke himself returned, and examined the lock, then reset it and departed. Roarke then went in to monitor the Karadimas fantasy, and when he came back after a good three hours, Leslie looked up from the stack of mail she was processing. "Good grief, you were gone forever," she said. "I hope nothing major was going on."

"Of course something major was going on," Roarke said, amused. "Mrs. Karadimas narrowly escaped being the object of a routine human sacrifice to an Aztec god, and I had to make my presence known briefly in order to calm her hysteria. I believe they'll be sampling the next culture on their list after all—that being aboriginal Australia." On Leslie's chuckle, he came around to the desk and frowned in puzzlement. "No electronic mail?"

"Oh, yeah, I meant to tell you," said Leslie and explained the problem with the website. "I called Christian's office, but he wasn't there…I guess he's having another crazy day. At least that's what Julianne suggested."

"I see," Roarke said. "Well, we got along for years without the site; I think we can manage to muddle through one day. I have an unusually large number of rounds to make, and if you would kindly take on a few of the routine ones for me, we may actually manage to get back here for a quiet dinner." She laughed, and they left the house in separate vehicles. Driving through Amberville, Leslie caved in to the temptation to drop in at Christian's office, only to find that he was still out.

It was Mateo's day off; but Julianne and Jonathan and Anton were all there. Jonathan gave Leslie a saucy look. "Missing Boss Prince, huh?" he said.

Leslie shot him a look of exaggerated threat and retorted, "Don't you have some numbers to crunch, bigmouth?" Jonathan smirked and went back to work, and Leslie, grinning, gave a little sigh and decided she might leave Christian a note. She settled at his desk and picked up a note pad that lay there, then paused to take a look. Rarely was she in this office at all, and she'd never been here when Christian wasn't; so she couldn't resist examining his desk. It was tidy and organized, with a day planner lying open to the current date and a chipped old coffee mug full of pens, pencils, a letter opener and a pair of scissors. A small ceramic ashtray containing loose change sat beside the base of the monitor, and there was a 5"x7" copy of their formal wedding portrait in a silver frame, in a spot where Christian could easily see it from his chair. Leslie grinned at that, noting at the same time that the frame was starting to tarnish. An impish look came over her and she turned to her note, jotting: _Hi, my love, I hope you're not too worn out! That picture frame needs some polish, but you have very good taste in portraits…ha ha. Please come and join Father and me for supper. I love you! Love, Leslie._ She dropped the pen back into the mug, left the note pad where he couldn't possibly miss it, then arose and pushed the chair back under the desk.

"Should I tell Boss Prince you were here?" Julianne asked.

Leslie grinned. "No, no need, I left him a note. Let it be a surprise. I just thought I'd see if he was around. Well, I'm off…have a good day, all." She departed with a sense of disappointment in her, wondering what on earth had Christian running around like this.

A little before six, she returned to the main house, her mind still on the last errand she had run, and parked the car beside the fountain just as Roarke pulled up in the jeep. "You look concerned, Leslie," he said, meeting her at the steps. "What happened?"

"I think the pineapple plantation lost power too," she remarked. "They said an entire freezer of food had thawed out, and they had to cook it all today before it went bad. They also said something about feeling sorry for Christian…but they didn't explain why."

Roarke raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps Christian can explain that. Ah, perfect timing; there's Mariki now with the cart."

"Great, I'm famished," said Leslie. "If she nags me tonight, I'm going to show up here tomorrow morning in a fat suit and really scare the heck out of her." Roarke laughed.

To Leslie's delight, Christian caught up with them just as she and Roarke were sitting down at the table, crossing the porch at a half run and greeting them apologetically. "I didn't mean to be late; it's been quite a hectic day. Leslie, my Rose, that note you left me made it all worth it." He kissed her, then sat down himself and focused on his father-in-law. "Mr. Roarke, are you aware of any electrical problems on the island? Six websites had large glitches, and I was all over this end of the island all day fixing them."

"Oh, that's why you were out when I called," Leslie said, startled. "It happened here too—most of the site is down. And I just remembered, I had to reset my clock when I got up this morning. The power must have gone out last night."

"That didn't happen at home," remarked Christian in surprise. He gave Leslie an astonished look. "Most of the website is down?"

She nodded. "I can't figure out why. Only the main page would come up when I got on line and tried to get in."

"_Herregud,"_ Christian groaned. "It must be the island server causing all these problems. I'll look at your computer after we've eaten."

"Perhaps the electrical utility experienced trouble," Roarke mused. "They suggested hosting the server for the island, and it seemed a convenient arrangement at the time. Were there any calls from guests, Leslie?"

"Two or three. Apparently it didn't affect the Karadimas fantasy, or you'd have said something when you got back," Leslie said.

"That," said Roarke with a mildly pointed look at her, "is due to lack of electricity in those eras, my dear Leslie."

Leslie sighed tolerantly and said, "I don't mean the fantasy itself, Father…I mean the time-travel room. Ever since you had that fancy electronic lock installed on the door…"

Christian watched their byplay with enormous interest. "When did that happen?" he asked curiously.

"Late in August, when a guest's seven-year-old child took it upon himself to explore that room," Roarke said darkly. "Unfortunately, at the time it was still active."

Laughing, Christian murmured something in _jordiska_ and focused on Leslie. "It seems we all had an unusual day, my Rose." She grinned.

Roarke eyed them. "If you two are in agreement about this, it's going to become even more unusual." At the Enstads' quizzical looks, he smiled. "I have roles for both of you in this fantasy, if you can arrange to take Wednesday off work, Christian."

Leslie laughed. "Uh-oh. Wednesday's Halloween."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Christian asked, puzzled. "And just what is it about Halloween that excites everyone so much? Julianne and Jonathan won't stop talking about it, and I'm quite in the dark, particularly since you described it to me as a children's holiday."

"Oh, then it's perfect timing," Leslie said, sharing a grin with Roarke. "You get to dress up for Halloween after all." She laughed at Christian's impatient grunt. "How far back are we going, Father?"

"Quite the distance," Roarke said, his dark eyes twinkling. "Christian, how much do you know about the origins of your native country?"

Christian slowly sat back in his chair, eyeing Roarke a little warily. "Essentially what any _jordisk_ child learns in school. Frankly, I think it's more of a legend than a factual report. Why do you ask?"

"Because," Roarke replied serenely, "you and Leslie will have the chance to find out firsthand exactly how legendary, or factual, that history may be. I am asking you both to make a trip back in time, in the event our guests run into any difficulties. You will be in disguise, of course, and there will be a set of guidelines to follow should you…you're not ill, are you, Christian?" His son-in-law was sitting deadly still, gaping at Roarke with eyes bigger than the plates.

Leslie burst out laughing. "The plight of the uninitiated! Christian, my love, this is your chance to make Anna-Laura insanely jealous. Okay, Father, you've got my interest, and obviously Christian's too. What do you have in mind?"

Roarke explained to them, making Christian's speechless amazement merely grow; Leslie listened carefully, trying not to laugh at her husband's shock. When he finished, she nodded. "I think we can handle that…or I can, anyway. I'm not so sure about Christian."

Christian turned his incredulous stare on her. "Am I _ever_ going to get used to all the impossible happenings on this island? Just when I think I've heard the most incredible story of my life, you and Mr. Roarke throw another one at me."

Leslie regarded him with a sympathetic smile. "Believe me, my love, I went through the same phase when I first came to live here. But it didn't take me quite as long as it seems to be taking you. Maybe because I was a lot younger and could still learn to accept these things." She reached over and squeezed his hand. "We've got a couple of days to get you used to this particular idea, anyway. Incidentally…isn't there a full moon on Wednesday?"

"So there is," Roarke said, studying Christian as if waiting for a comment. When he was silent, Roarke raised an eyebrow. "Nothing to say?"

Christian looked wry. "I have a feeling that anything I'd have to say about full moons on Halloween on Fantasy Island would be taken very much the wrong way, and I'd prefer to keep my foot out of my mouth," he said. Roarke and Leslie both laughed.

"Very well, then," Roarke said, "it appears that we have an arrangement."

Christian shrugged and looked at Leslie. "You mentioned making my sister jealous. I don't know if I'll have the opportunity to do that, under the circumstances. She'd never believe me. Undoubtedly she would cite that full moon of yours and suggest I invest in a straitjacket. And the worst of it is, I wouldn't be completely convinced she was wrong."

Leslie giggled. "Well, you're the one who wanted to move here."

Her husband sighed heavily. "So I did. Forgive me, Mr. Roarke, but I'm only a former prince with too pragmatic an outlook on the world. If anyone had told me the day I first set foot here that meeting your daughter would change my entire life, and then explained exactly how, I might have turned around and gone right back to Lilla Jordsö."

"Liar," said Leslie comfortably. He shot her a look and she smirked.

"Actually," Christian admitted, "chances are I would have had to work tomorrow anyhow. I didn't get around to all the calls I received today, including yours, and I think it's better that I handle all the problems as soon as I can. So taking Wednesday shouldn't be any problem, Mr. Roarke."

Roarke nodded. "Perhaps you might prefer to shift your weekend to Wednesday and Thursday, so that you two can take the second day to rest from your little trip." Leslie nodded agreement; Christian blinked.

"I'm going to need to rest?" he said dubiously.

"Are you about to balk, my love?" Leslie asked, seriously now. "Tell us now if you are, so we can make some other arrangements."

"There's no trouble if you prefer not to do it, Christian," Roarke assured him.

Christian sat up. "Oh no, no, you can't get rid of me so easily. You've managed to excite my interest now, and you couldn't pay me to back out. I'm in, whether you want me there or not." He grinned; Roarke and Leslie looked at each other and chuckled.

"Oh, by the way…I was out at the pineapple plantation just before I came back here," Leslie said to her husband, "and after they got done complaining about the power outage and how they had to cook enough food to feed the entire fishing village, they said they felt sorry for you. I couldn't figure out what they meant, and they wouldn't tell me."

Christian stilled, then slowly turned to stare at her. "They felt _sorry_ for me?" She nodded, and he closed his eyes and moaned softly. _"Må sanktarna hålla plass till mej._ Two entire days of work, lost. That's going to account for Tuesday…"

"What's the matter, my love?" Leslie asked anxiously.

"I had begun building their website," Christian said in an infinitely weary tone. "They insisted on having all the test pages on their own master computer, and I agreed after trying my worst to talk them out of it. This was exactly why I didn't want to accede to that request. If the power went out at the plantation and the server was affected, it probably means that every last byte of the preliminary labor I did has disappeared, and I'll have to go down there and begin again from scratch."

"Oh no," Leslie said in mournful sympathy. "I'm sorry, my love."

"I as well," Roarke said. "But perhaps this will convince them to let you hold the test pages rather than keeping them on their own system."

Christian shook his head. "I'd have wished for a less drastic means of persuasion, but you might be right, Mr. Roarke. An ill wind and so on, right?" He caught Roarke's smile and nod, and gave a faint, reluctant smile of his own. "Perhaps if it's all right with you, I'd be better off staying here tonight. I expect to be here late repairing your site, and I'll be that much closer to work so that in the morning I can go right out and repair the last two calls from today before I get into another argument with the plantation."

"Of course, Christian, you're perfectly welcome to remain," Roarke said warmly. "I'll have Leslie working tomorrow and Tuesday also, so it will fit in nicely with our schedules. Leslie, while he is working on our site, you might want to return home and gather some essentials for him." She nodded.

"After this, my love," she remarked to Christian, "the trip back to Lilla Jordsö's origins is probably going to be a vacation." At last, though reluctantly, Christian let out a laugh and arose long enough to give her a quick kiss.


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- October 30, 2001

Steve and Marissa were both decidedly more awake by the time they found themselves back in the time-travel room after their third day, in aboriginal Australia. Despite the beauty of the fascinating culture, they had discovered this wasn't to their liking either, after a startlingly bloody skirmish with a rival tribe that had tried to steal water from the tribe hosting the Karadimases. "I think we're due for some civilization," Steve said. "Let's go see what's next." He and Marissa began prowling the room looking for the object that bore the number 4, and when Steve found it attached to the bust of Julius Caesar, he grinned broadly. "Aha! One of my picks! We're going to the Roman Empire, honey. Hope your Latin's up to par. _Cogito ergo sum."_

"Well, this should give it a good workout," Marissa said with anticipation. "Emperors and refined ladies and lovely manners, and lots of learned discourse, and imagine all the things we're going to learn about the place that the scholars still haven't found out yet. Let's hurry—this is going to be wonderful." She and Steve shared an excited look, then joined hands and closed their eyes, counting to five…

§ § § -- October 31, 2001

Christian and Leslie, jolted by their alarm clock, both groaned and rolled over in unison, bumping into each other and grunting. They came fully awake at the same moment and apologized in unison, then eyed each other in confusion while the clock went on beeping. Finally Christian asked, "Why did we set that thing again?"

"Oh, that's right, we're going back in time," Leslie said through a yawn, as if this were a commonplace, everyday thing. "I think you can shut it off now."

Mumbling in _jordiska_, Christian did so. "Back in time," he said, shaking his head. "I'm still trying to believe this—and there you are, completely nonchalant."

"It's my job," Leslie said, grinning at his disgruntled look. "I thought you wanted to do this. You insisted you were in on Sunday, once you got over the worst of your shock."

Christian grunted, said something rude in his own tongue and shot another glance at the clock. "It's hard to get excited about anything at four in the morning. Do I have to dress up for this? Is there anything I should take, other than booster shots and potable water?"

"Nothing at all," said Leslie, laughing. "We'll be there for only a day, my love. Can't you look at it as having some fun?"

"Maybe when I wake up," muttered Christian, but he grinned reluctantly. "All right, all right, give me fifteen minutes and some breakfast. I suspect my ancestor and his friends won't have anything recognizably edible…much less thermal coffee mugs."

By four-thirty they had reached the main house, and Roarke showed them into the time-travel room. It was the first time Christian had ever seen it fitted out for a fantasy, and he stared around with fascination while Roarke briefed them. "The climate was somewhat warmer around the time the Vikings were in their period of greatest activity, so perhaps you'll find conditions slightly less forbidding than they would be nowadays. Of course, that depends on timing. What month did the landing take place?" They waited, but Christian was still gazing around with wide eyes. "Christian?" Roarke prompted.

Startled, Christian swung back to face him. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

Roarke raised an eyebrow; Leslie grinned and took pity on him. "Do you know what month, or at least what season, the landing happened?"

Christian shook his head. "It's always been in dispute. Even our Originators Saga doesn't contain that information. But if we're to play it safe, I'd suggest warm clothing in layers. We can always shed what we don't need."

Roarke nodded. "An excellent suggestion. Very well, then, you'll find the appropriate attire in the corner. When you're ready, Leslie, just go through that door there, and you and Christian will find yourselves in the proper place."

"Who are we supposed to be?" asked Leslie.

"Ah yes. Leslie, you will be a captive Irish maiden; Christian, you'll pose as one of your ancestor's cohorts. Both of you will be making the landing, since Leslie will be your captive, Christian," Roarke said.

Christian's expression grew intrigued, and he gave Leslie a mischievous look. "Hmm, this is starting to look like fun."

"Brute," said Leslie affectionately. "Okay, I guess we can start. If we have questions, we'll let you know, Father." Roarke nodded and left them to change.

They found their "costumes" waiting for them in folded piles at the foot of the table that bore the Viking ship. "Oh, so that's what you did with my ship model," said Christian. "Why is there a number 5 beside it?"

"Because it's the fifth destination for our guests," Leslie said, "and today's the day its number comes up. Father was really impressed by that model. He said it's exquisite."

Christian smiled. "I'd hope so…I spent nearly six months on it. I'll thank him later. So then, let's see what the latest fashion of the year 1092 is."

Sharing a grin, he and Leslie picked up folded piles of material. Leslie's turned out to be a wrinkled linen shift of some indeterminate light color, topped by a woolen tunic dyed dark green. Her footwear was a pair of leather shoes. Christian's boots were also of leather, as were his pants; his shirt was of wool and he had a somewhat crude fur garment to wear over this. Further, he was equipped with a sword whose hilt was intricately decorated in the Viking tradition. "Ohhh…" he murmured, examining the weapon curiously while Leslie changed her clothes. She paused in pulling the long woolen tunic over her head and eyed him curiously.

"A sword, huh? Is that going to be strictly for decoration?" she asked.

Christian looked up, raised an eyebrow at her and then smiled slyly. "Did I ever tell you that I took fencing lessons?" he asked.

Leslie stilled, giving him a skeptical sidelong look. "Are you putting me on?"

"Would I do a thing like that?" he asked with utter innocence.

"Yes, you would," she said without hesitation, and he laughed.

"Yes, you're right, I would. But not about this." Christian started to shed his own clothing, still checking out the sword. "However, I suppose I'd better quantify that. The lessons lasted barely through one school year—and I was thirteen at the time. The only truly remarkable trait I showed was that I could fence equally well with both hands…for what that was worth. I remember being particularly hung up on thrust-and-parry and discarding everything else as uninteresting. My instructor despaired of me, and he was probably quite happy when I announced I wanted to stop the lessons."

Leslie laughed a little uneasily. "I just hope you don't have to use that thing. Oh, and maybe we'd better leave all our jewelry with Father for safekeeping."

"Even our wedding rings?" Christian asked, tugging on the leather pants.

"I think it's better," she said. "Father said only that I was your Irish captive—he said nothing about our characters being married. Anyway, that's real gold and real gems. I'd hate to lose those rings in the eleventh century, if you get my drift."

He thought it over, then nodded. "You have a point there. Well enough." He finished dressing, tugged at the scratchy woolen shirt and made a face, then unlatched her ruby heart necklace for her. "This isn't going to be very comfortable."

Leslie grinned. "I don't think comfort was uppermost in the minds of these people. Modesty and probably warmth would've counted for more, I'd bet. At least I don't have to wear my wool right next to the skin. Maybe Father'd let you get away with an undershirt if you asked, but I don't think that's exactly the sign of a tough Viking."

"I'm no Viking, only descended from one." Christian pulled off his Rolex and reluctantly removed his wedding ring. "Besides, clothing has improved tremendously in the last nine hundred years, and frankly, I prefer modern fabrics."

"Me too," Leslie agreed with a little smile. "Right at the moment I feel like I'm wearing very stiff bedsheets under this tunic. But, well, it's gotta be accurate."

Christian frowned suddenly, still holding the watch and the ring in one hand. "I have a question for Mr. Roarke all of a sudden. Before we go back to whatever it is we're facing, I want to ask it of him. We have to give him our jewelry and clothing anyway."

Leslie nodded, pulling on the soft leather shoes. "Sure." She crossed the room and thumped a few times on the door with her knuckles; a moment later Roarke came in and surveyed them with interested approval.

"You look quite authentic," he said. "Of course, there will be other alterations that will be made during your transit back in time, but the clothing was the most important." He smiled when Leslie deposited their clothes and her necklace and rings in his hands. "Good thinking, Leslie. Christian, do you have anything you wish to leave with me?"

"That I do," said Christian, coming over to give Roarke his watch and ring, "and I also have a question. What about the language? Obviously, no one is going to speak modern English in the eleventh century. And _jordiska_ will be just as useless, since the speech of the day was Old Norse."

"You're not familiar with Old Norse?" Leslie asked curiously.

"Let me explain it this way," Christian said. "While we can read our own and the Icelandic sagas, they have to be annotated and sometimes translated outright, very much as English-speakers need notes to read Shakespeare. And trying to speak it…I don't suppose you have a solution for that, Mr. Roarke."

"None is needed," Roarke said. "Simply speak whatever you are most comfortable using. If you prefer to speak your native language, Christian, indulge yourself by all means. You will be understood, and you will also understand those around you."

"But how?" Christian persisted.

Leslie nodded. "I've wondered about that myself," she said. "I mean, I encountered it once, but I couldn't figure out how it was possible."

Roarke paused a moment to eye her with a trace of suspicion. "Have you indeed? I may have to investigate that," he said, "in case you were doing something you shouldn't have been." Leslie rolled her eyes, which made Christian laugh. "You might think of it as an automatic translation device, in order to simplify a visit of this type. You see, to the Vikings you will be meeting, you'll be speaking in Old Norse. To you, they will be speaking English, or _jordiska_ if you prefer, Christian—if you do, Leslie will hear English from you, and you will hear _jordiska_ from her. I instigated the translation property myself to ease communication."

"Ingenious," Christian said, "though I wish I could understand how it works."

"That doesn't explain the Scottish-accent chocolates we had to use—" Leslie began.

Roarke gave a sigh, the first sign of impatience. "There's no time for that," he broke in, making a point of checking his gold watch. "Our guests are due to come through here at any moment, and you two must be in place before they arrive. I do hope you'll both enjoy your adventure, and do your best to keep yourselves safe. Leslie, keep an eye on Professor and Mrs. Karadimas, if you would."

"Will do," Leslie agreed. "Well, here goes. Come on, my love, time to meet your ancestor." She took his hand and led him back to the second door across the room; Roarke watched them, and when they paused for one last look back, he winked and nodded before ducking back into the study and pulling the door shut behind him.

Christian lifted the sword, hefted it experimentally, then carefully slid it into the scabbard attached to his outer fur garment. "I think I'll use my own language," he said to Leslie with an arch little grin. "It would be a treat to hear you speaking _jordiska."_

"In that case, enjoy it while it lasts," she retorted sweetly, and they both laughed a little nervously. "Okay, take my hand…I'm going to open this door and we're stepping through together, on the count of three."


	6. Chapter 6

§ § § -- October 31, 2001

A few seconds over five minutes later, Steve and Marissa Karadimas popped into being, under the bust of Caesar, and looked at each other. "I think I'm getting used to this," Steve said. "At least I didn't get the headache I got all the other times that's happened."

Marissa grinned. "I think of it as Captain Kirk's transporter, speeded up," she said before her grin faded. "I can't believe civilization could be so…_un_civilized. I had no idea the gladiatorial games in the arenas were so gory."

"Man versus beast," Steve said, slowly shaking his head. "Bread and circuses. Wholesale slaughter for mass entertainment, as modern people stare at television. I admit, I got suckered too. The reports said anything went, and they were more right than we realized. I need something different. Where are we, number five? Let's track it down."

They got up and circled the room; Marissa found it. "Here it is. Oh my goodness."

Steve came over to see what her exclamation was about and gawked at the Viking-ship model. "I will be damned…that thing is fantastic," he said, awed. "Look at the incredible detail on it! I wonder who built that? I hope Roarke knows, so I can give my compliments to the architect."

"It really is beautiful, and authentic too," Marissa agreed. "This must be where we go back to witness the founding of Lilla Jordsö by renegade Vikings. There's no doubt in my mind we'll see the spirit of cooperation and comradeship here."

"Teamwork all the way," Steve agreed. "Let's do it." He caught her hand in his, and they closed their eyes and counted to five.

They opened them when they became aware of a gentle, irregular jostling; what they saw around them made them look at each other in amazement. Some three dozen rough-looking men at oars dozed fitfully; in one corner, Steve and Marissa noticed a young woman with long, vividly red hair in a riot of corkscrewing curls, twitching in her sleep as she huddled against the wall on the last bench. The dark-haired, scruffy-looking Viking who sat beside her was leaning on the bulkhead behind him, his head tilted back and his mouth open as he snored gently in tandem with most of the men. The only light came from a flickering lantern that cast barely enough illumination for them to find empty spaces on the floor.

"Oars," Steve whispered. "We must be on a ship, and these characters must be captives. I heard Vikings used prisoners as oarsmen to keep their ships moving."

"Would Vikings use their own as oarsmen?" Marissa wondered, indicating the dark one beside the red-haired woman. "I don't think I get it."

"Let's see if we can sneak some more sleep," Steve said, "and then maybe later we can ask some questions." He braced himself against the wall; Marissa settled her head on his shoulder, and they drifted off to the gentle rocking of the boat.

"Heave to!" shouted someone, waking them up quite abruptly. They peered around curiously and noticed all the others beginning to stir; the last three or four rows of men gave one another annoyed looks. A muscular blond man got up and planted his hands on his hips, glaring at the hulking Viking who had yelled.

"Feed my men first," he said, "as you feed your own, or this rotting hulk will never move another arm's length across the sea."

"Mark my words, you worm-eaten slime, you'll yet meet your death on this hulk," the first man said. "I look forward to that moment."

Ten or twelve men rose to their feet in silent support of the rebel, including the dark-haired one. He was noticeably taller than the rest and had a good week's worth of beard; his scowl seemed curiously fiercer than those of the others. The blond looked around, saw his supporters waiting for some signal, and grinned ferally. "You'll wait long to see it, my friend. Fast-break, now, or we cease to row."

The first man spat on the floor and stalked away, barking an order at the entire hold full of Vikings. Steve and Marissa got up along with the others, in time to see the tall, dark Viking grasp the young woman by the arm and tug at her, none too gently. "Come, wench, you're to eat as well," the man said.

"Such generosity," the woman said with a contemptuous look at him. "Shall I rely on your protection that my meager portion not be stolen from me?"

"I have told you before," the Viking said impatiently, "you are mine, and no other touches you. It's best that you accept your fate; you'll not see your green land again. Come, before you waste away and become useless to me." He pulled her to her feet and tugged her along with him in the others' wake. Slowly Steve and Marissa followed, looking at each other and wondering exactly what had happened.

"Miss?" Marissa ventured. This stopped not only the woman but also the Viking who held her; they both stared at her. "They'll feed us all, won't they?"

"Perhaps," the woman said, "if they find some use for you. As yet, my only salvation is this unwashed oak of a man who claims I belong to him, else I should long since have been thrown overboard." She squinted at Marissa. "Are you then captive also? This man at your side, perhaps, seized you as this one did me?"

"She's my wife, miss," Steve said.

The Viking gave him a look of disbelief. "You bring your wife on these grueling trips? I wonder that the captain has not put you ashore at some strange place and left you to find your way home on foot." He hesitated, cast a glance at the red-haired woman and said thoughtfully, "But then, perhaps you are better off joining our band. We would need women to populate…" He stopped, scowled and shook his head. "We eat now," he said curtly, "lest we find nothing remaining when we reach topside." He renewed his grip on the redhead's arm and stalked towards the ladder to the deck. Unsure of themselves, Steve and Marissa followed; having exchanged words with the two, they felt it might be wiser to stick with them. Silently they climbed the ladder behind the tall Viking.

The air was still and quite chilly; the sky was overcast, except for a long sliver on the horizon where the sky was yellow from the rising sun. Breakfast was eaten in silence, but with many wary glances exchanged among the men. Eventually the blond Viking rebel asked, with studied casualness, "Where be the captain this morn?"

"Seasick, I'd wager," suggested a voice, touching off mocking laughter.

"Or else he grew ill on what passes for food with you great primitive fools," muttered the redhead, earning a sharp look from the tall Viking. Marissa looked at Steve; she was inclined to agree. Breakfast was little more than a rock-hard piece of bread, made from some indeterminate grain that seemed to have no taste.

The blond man wandered to the side of the tall Viking and the redhead, eyed them with interest, swept an unnoticing glance across Steve and Marissa and then peered at the horizon. Marissa turned to see what had his interest and realized that there was a slice of land at some little distance.

"We go now," the blond man said low, and as if by some prearranged signal, the same ten or twelve men arose. Steve and Marissa stood up too, watching the tall Viking pull the redhead back onto her feet. "Has that wench eaten?"

"Enough to keep alive one of those crawling vermin at our feet, perhaps, but no more," the tall Viking remarked. "No matter, she comes with us."

"She's a burden," the blond said, scowling. "I told you from the first day, she should be jettisoned. She's fortunate to have received anything."

"Let me worry about that," the tall Viking suggested in a low, ominous tone.

The blond eyed him, then shrugged. "Then she is your problem, and it's left to you to decide how she reaches shore. We go now." As one, he and his cohorts surged forward, knocking back those few of the bedraggled oarsmen who bothered trying to stop them; near the bow, the fistfight began in earnest. Someone drew a sword, and immediately all the rest followed suit. The redhead let out a cry of fright and tried to slink back towards the stern.

Marissa caught her and wrapped her in a hug; the girl gave her an odd look but didn't protest. "This may be our only way off this ship," Marissa said softly.

"Where to?" the girl demanded. "I see nothing but water."

"There's land over there. Don't you see it?" Steve asked, pointing discreetly at the smudge in the dim morning. The girl looked up and stared at it for a long moment.

"I suppose their plan is to swim there," she jeered.

Steve and Marissa looked at each other. Was the legend really true after all? They edged closer to the fight; quite a few men had gone overboard and were floating face-down in the sea by now. The blond, about to climb over the side himself, let out a ringing yell and thrust his sword in the air. "We row to freedom!" he roared. Cheers went up, and his band promptly swarmed over the side. The tall Viking hesitated, sheathing his sword, then turned to see the redhead in Marissa's arms and strode toward them.

"She is mine," he said in quiet warning, firmly removing the girl from Marissa's grasp and again towing her behind him. "Do you come, or do you prefer servitude?"

"Come on, Steve, we're about to witness history in the making," Marissa said excitedly. "I don't care how they got there, I want to see them do it."

Steve grinned. "Okay…come on, then." He flung the last of his hardtack over the side and jogged after her; the tall Viking was just lifting the redhead, preparatory to apparently dropping her into the sea. She shrieked in panic and began kicking and squirming energetically; the Viking, cursing, shook her just once, then lowered her.

"What are you doing?" screamed Marissa.

"She comes with us," the Viking snapped at her, just as she and Steve reached the side and realized that there was a boat below them, rapidly filling with men. Two of them grabbed the young woman; when the tall one let her loose, she fell atop the two in the boat, eliciting laughter and lewd remarks. The woman glared, swung her arm around and caught one in the face with the flat of her hand, delivering a resounding smack.

"A boat?" Steve muttered.

"Better that than swimming," Marissa said. "Come on, before they leave us here!"

The Karadimases clambered down via a rough rope as the tall Viking made his way in and roughly elbowed aside three or four leering men to take possession of the young woman again. The blond, clearly the leader, shouted, "Row swiftly!" Oars were taken up and the overcrowded little boat began to make headway, leaving the ship behind.

"You great brute," the redhead shrieked when the tall Viking jerked her away from a man who had been pawing her. "All of you are great brutes, but you are the greatest of them all. What think you to do with me when we reach this land, then?"

The tall Viking's eyes blazed. "Have you no sense of gratitude, wench? _You are mine!_ I do not take a woman only to drown her when freedom draws near. Be silent, before I change my mind!" He pushed her into a cramped little space beside him, just shy of sending her over the side after all, then seized an oar and began to row. The young woman glared across the water, but her bravado was wearing thin by now and her shoulders had begun to shake. Tears welled up and stood in her eyes. Marissa started to reach over to pat her arm, but a glare from the tall Viking stopped her cold.

Steve, like the others, put his share of effort into the rowing; with a good dozen backs in the work, the boat moved at a respectable speed and the land on the horizon drew ever closer. After about an hour the blond shouted, and everyone stopped rowing. Marissa looked up from a half-doze; the men waited expectantly, the redhead sat in grim silence, and Steve risked a quick reassuring look at his wife.

"This moment will be one to sing of through the ages," the blond shouted. "We have defied our captors and gained our freedom, and through my actions we shall all prosper here in a new land. So say I, Magnus Ormssvärd, and so shall it be!" Amid the roars of jubilation, the blond leaped over the side and struck out for shore, which Marissa now noticed was perhaps fifty yards distant.

"So much for the legend," she murmured at Steve in amusement, and he chuckled.

"What legend speak you of?" asked the tall Viking, who had overheard, and Marissa gave him a startled look.

"We thought he was planning to swim the whole way there," offered Steve, quickly improvising. The tall Viking stared at him.

"A shame he did not," the redhead said, her spirit flaring up again. "He would have perished of this icy water along the way, and we should be rid of one annoying bag of wind at the very least." She shot the tall Viking a sidelong glare.

He sighed. "You try my patience, wench. I mean only to give you what I can to make you comfortable, but you fight me at every turn. Perhaps I am wiser to leave you to your own devices, since you so clearly will have none of me." He dropped his oar and turned away from her, his expression shuttering. The girl stared at him in surprise.

"You could hardly have my interests at heart," she said, although her voice was less strident now. "In all this time you have never even asked my name."

The tall Viking turned back to her, looked curiously at her, then smiled quite suddenly. "I have a name also, wench," he said softly. Her eyebrows popped up at that, but then a small smile tugged at her lips.

"Leave your lustful advances for another moment, or do you mean to take her here in this leaking vessel?" jeered a passing Viking, making them look around to see that the boat was rapidly emptying of men who were leaping over and swimming ashore in Ormssvärd's wake. The tall one shook his head and then smiled again at the redhead.

"Remain in the vessel and keep your feet dry, wench," he said. "I will swim and bring you to shore in this." She blinked and her eyes went wide; she, Steve and Marissa watched him get up and remove his fur jacket, woolen shirt and leather boots. He placed his sword carefully atop the garments before pausing to eye Steve. "Your wench may remain in the vessel as well, but I should hardly call a man one who does not reach shore under his own power," he said pointedly.

Steve gave him a panicked look and admitted with reluctance, "I can't swim."

"Then hang from the vessel if you must," the tall Viking said impatiently, "but do not remain aboard as would a coward. You might at least appear to assist me." He abruptly climbed to the stern and dropped neatly into the water. Steve shot Marissa the same look he'd given the Viking; she could only shrug, and he slowly crawled to the stern and very gingerly lowered himself over the side, gasping loudly.

"D-damn, this water's c-c-c-cold," he stuttered, teeth chattering.

"Be silent, if you cannot swim," the Viking said curtly and began to propel the boat towards the meager strip of beach that lay ahead of them. Marissa smiled at the redhead, who gave her a faint return smile but seemed to have withdrawn; now and then she glanced toward the stern with a thoughtful look on her face.

In a few more minutes they had reached shore, and Marissa and the redhead stepped out of the boat and climbed up a banking onto actual land. Steve was right behind them, shivering and looking miserable. The others had been watching; Ormssvärd sidled forward and peered at Steve incredulously. "It's but early autumn," he said.

"No way," Steve said, shocked. "That water's like melted ice."

"I have little use for weaklings," Ormssvärd remarked, "nor women either, and I now see that I have somehow acquired two. Wenches are good for cooking, are they not?" He grinned lasciviously. "Among other things." His men laughed.

The redhead looked at him coldly. "You'll seek long for someone willing to keep you warm in the night, I'm thinking."

"You will be silent!" yelled Ormssvärd and seized her arm, swinging her around and slamming her into a tree. The impact knocked the breath from her and she half sank to the ground, stunned.

Someone roared from the beach, and the tall dark Viking leaped from the sand onto the banking, grabbing Ormssvärd with both hands and shoving him to the ground with all his strength. "Perhaps you are deaf," he said, his voice shaking with fury. "No one touches what is mine, including you, Magnus Ormssvärd."

Ormssvärd scrambled nimbly to his feet and laughed. "Lust has certainly overcome you, my friend!" At this, the tall Viking whipped out his sword, and the men around them began to mutter. Conspicuously, Ormssvärd's sword, along with most of the other men's, still lay in the boat, where they had been left for safekeeping during the swim to shore.

"I have followed you this far," the tall Viking said quietly, his tone low and menacing. "You made many promises, most of them empty. Now that you for once have kept your word, I felt inclined to generosity toward you. I see that was an error. If in fact your dream of a royal empire is ever to be realized, you will heed my warning to keep your hands off my wench, or you will die by my sword before you have any opportunity to sire a dynasty to succeed you when you grow too feebleminded to rule." All the while, he had held the point of his sword at Ormssvärd's throat; now, just for emphasis, he thrust forward slightly, drawing a single drop of blood. The sudden silence was deafening.

"No wench is worth your life, Magnus," someone said. "Let be. Thorsten Långsvärd is known for his skill with the blade. Had you no knowledge of his name?"

Ormssvärd stared at the tall Viking. _"You_ are Långsvärd? Then luck was with me when you joined my band. Had you only told me your name, I should have taken note. Go to your wench, but be warned, others here may not be as generous as I."

Långsvärd nodded once, curtly, and sheathed his sword. "We understand each other, then. As to the coward and his wench, it matters not to me what you do." He waved vaguely towards Steve and Marissa before stalking over to the tree, where he knelt and gently gathered the redheaded woman into his arms.

"Hardly worth my time," Ormssvärd said, shrugging. "Now that I find the skilled swordsman to be among my group, I am feeling magnanimous. Let them remain if they so choose." Steve and Marissa both sagged with relief and quickly put some distance between themselves and the leader with his band, clutching each other and shaking.

Then they heard low voices and looked at each other, then at the tall Viking and the redhead. The man spoke softly to the woman, and she nodded slightly, still looking dazed and breathless. Steve remarked in surprise, "Looks like more than lust going on there."

Marissa smiled. "Looks like it to me too. I think there's a love story here that never got recorded in Lilla Jordsö's Originators Saga."


	7. Chapter 7

§ § § -- Lilla Jordsö, autumn 1092

"Are you sure you're all right, my darling?" Christian whispered urgently to Leslie, his hazel eyes wide with fear. "Please, say something."

Leslie nodded a little, clinging to him with fists like vises. "Can't…breathe," she managed, trying to suck in a gasp.

"Slowly," he advised her. "He gave you quite a blow. If he weren't my ancestor, I might have skewered him with that sword. It took everything in me to settle for making threats on his life. Breathe, my darling, don't try to talk." He caught her when she wilted against him; only her hands, fiercely clutching his sleeves, were rigid.

"So," Leslie murmured after several minutes during which he kept raking his fingers through her wild riot of flame-colored curls. "Seems like Father made sure you had a good solid reputation preceding you, so that your half-crazed ancestor wouldn't start wondering why we're here."

"Your father thinks of everything," Christian said, grinning. "You sound much better, my Rose. That's a relief. This hair you have…it keeps catching me by surprise. I prefer your natural hair." She giggled softly.

"That scraggly beard and the long hair look good on you, my love," she teased, and he snorted, making her laugh quietly and burrow into his arms. "What do we do now?"

Christian shrugged. "We can let Ormssvärd take the lead and follow whatever cues he gives us. I have something to ask him, which can wait a little while. I want to be certain you're completely recovered first." He tilted her head back and studied her, as if making sure she was the same Leslie in spite of the hair that framed her face. Then he smiled and said gently, "I love you, my Rose."

"I love you too, my darling," she said, just above a whisper, and he kissed her, unheeding of who might be looking on.

"Oh, is that your name? Rose?" exclaimed Marissa Karadimas from nearby, and Leslie and Christian broke from each other with just a trace of reluctance, turning to stare at her and Steve, taking care to return to character. "It's lovely, dear. And you—little wonder she sees you as a hero, the way you jumped to her defense. Thorsten Långsvärd—isn't that Longsword in English? I see where that came from. I'm amazed you haven't been mentioned in the sagas, not if you have the reputation they say you do."

Christian raised an uncomprehending eyebrow at her. "I seek no fame," he said, rising in a swift smooth motion and simultaneously pulling Leslie up with him. "Sagas hold little interest for me. I wish merely to have my own small domain and sire the next generation, and this is the place I shall do it. And you two? You seem to have appeared since the last landing we made aboard that scow full of raiders. You are not Irish…you are too dark to be of that race, as is the wench here. Yet I cannot place you."

"We're Greek," said Steve, looking slightly bowled over.

"Then you wandered some great distance, to have joined us so recently," Christian remarked. "Such stamina should be to Ormssvärd's advantage. With so few of us, we must needs find some way to maintain our hold on this land. And that brings to mind my query." With his arm around Leslie, he strode off in Ormssvärd's direction, pausing a few feet from him and waiting till he'd finished telling some bawdy joke.

Ormssvärd grinned broadly when his men laughed, then noticed Christian and Leslie standing nearby. "So you have revived the wench, then, Långsvärd."

"She is unharmed…to your good fortune," Christian said meaningfully. "Tell me, Ormssvärd, how you intend to maintain your dominance on this piece of earth. We are but a dozen and a pair of wenches. Should there be others already here, we may well find ourselves outnumbered, thus outmatched. Have you some plan?"

Ormssvärd shrugged nonchalantly. "If we find others here, they will be subjugated, and call me their ruler. If not, we shall exterminate them."

"How barbaric," cried Marissa Karadimas in horror. "You think ten men are going to be able to produce an entire population all on their own, with only one woman among them—and her already claimed by a man at that? You're starting to sicken me."

"Wench, you will close that mouth of yours, either on your own, by your man's command, or by force," Ormssvärd snapped. "I know not how large this bit of earth is, but I have little doubt there are others here, and they will know power and authority when they encounter it. Those who do not submit shall die, and well rid of them we will be. That should leave enough wenches for those who have not already stolen them from some grim castle in a strange land." He eyed Christian with a surprising twinkle in his eye.

"And should you be fortunate, you might then find one willing to warm your back at night," said Leslie, softly but with a barbed note to her voice. Ormssvärd peered at her, then brayed out a laugh.

"Have you some name, then, wench? When I do find the one who warms me in the night, I should like some way of distinguishing her from you, lest Långsvärd entertain the idea that I am unduly interested in his woman. I would say that I hope the wench I find has even half the spirit that you do." He looked at Christian. "Once I am king and have something to cast my authority upon, perhaps I shall marry you to her."

"I ask no more," said Christian with a nod of the head and a slight, reserved smile.

Leslie stared up at him. "You would marry me, then, you great oak of a man? I knew not that Vikings were even aware of the institution."

"Think you that we are so backward?" Christian returned, that eyebrow going up again. "I was blunt with you merely because there was no time for gentleness. We have yet much to do before we have any spare moments, but yes, I would marry you."

Ormssvärd roared with laughter. "So begins the new kingdom, then! We go now to seek out others, to assure their fealty to me and to be certain that there is in fact something for me to rule. Little as I like to admit it, you are correct, Långsvärd…an empire that consists of a dozen fools and a pair of women will last only as long as it takes the final one to perish. Onward, so that we may conquer and then prosper."

"I'm in," Steve said out of the blue. "Whatever you do, count me in. I have my own wife to protect here too. Anybody got a spare sword?"

"Steve," Marissa gasped, eyes huge. "You're going out to rape and pillage like these… these savages?"

"Woman, it seems to me you would be wise to heed Ormssvärd's warning," Christian told her, not unkindly. "Your man does what he must to assure his survival, and thus your own. We have no spare swords," he said to Steve, "but there are always axes, and these you may put to multiple uses. If you examine that worthless vessel that barely brought us here, you should find something to your liking." Steve nodded and started back towards the beached skiff, which they could see even from here had taken on enough water to fill the entire bottom of the boat.

"You will watch your back," Leslie said sternly to Christian. "Later, if time permits, I might even go so far as to find a sharp stone and hack some of that mane away, so that you have clear vision with which to watch that back."

"What," Christian teased, "you did not then harbor the belief that we were monsters, with eyes that could see forward and behind at once? There is yet hope for you, my Irish wench. Remain here with the other, and perhaps together you may find something worth eating around here. Watch for me: I _will_ return." So saying, he kissed her, just enough to make them both long for some private haven to retreat to, and then smiled before striding away after Ormssvärd and his band. She stood and watched him go, smiling to herself, enjoying the role-playing and thinking it might be fun to marry him a second time in these strange, wild surroundings.

"Rose, I think you're falling in love with your 'great oak of a man'," Marissa teased gently, catching her attention.

"Think you so indeed?" Leslie asked tartly, but she grinned. "Ah, but I suspect you are correct. I suggest we search for something more edible than the stone slabs they attempted to feed us on that scow this morning. Are you with me?"

"By all means," Marissa said, patting her shoulder; and they started off to search, not noticing Steve sprinting after the Vikings wielding a battered axe in both hands.

‡ ‡ ‡

It was early afternoon before Ormssvärd and his band returned; Marissa looked anxiously for Steve and was deeply relieved when she saw him, toting his axe and looking winded but oddly exhilarated. "We need not forage, nor live in the open like savages," Ormssvärd said grandly. "I have subjects in the nearby village, and it is here we shall establish our foothold. On this spot I now proclaim to one and all: I am your ruler, and you are my people, whom I shall watch over and protect from all who think to take what is ours." He glanced around and saw the boat, now half submerged. "Bring that fully onshore. As worthless as it now is, it brought us here to this place we now call home, and it deserves that much honor. It will stand as the marker and the monument to the spot we landed."

The tall Viking, Thorsten Långsvärd, detached himself from the group and pulled Rose to his side in a protective gesture. "That will not last forever, Ormssvärd. Think you not to carve some stone marker, that your future dynasty knows this is the spot you came to shore and staked claim on their homeland?"

"We have no time for such niceties," Ormssvärd said. "I am well aware that this bit of wood will have rotted before my grandchildren are dead, but so much the better, think I. If it is believed that we swam the entire distance from that scow, I shall not leave a record to dispute the assumption." He smirked, and his men laughed and cheered. Marissa saw Långsvärd exchange some unreadable glance with Rose, but neither spoke.

"Huh…so that's how the legend got started," Steve muttered to Marissa in amusement. "Say…I've always heard that Princess Anna-Laura's a historian. You think she knows the truth behind all this? If not, we could scoop her."

"She wouldn't believe a word of it," Marissa said, but she grinned. "We can put our own account in whatever papers we leave behind us, and anyone who discovers it can always pass it on to the present-day royal family. Or…we could keep it our little secret."

Steve glanced at the Vikings standing nearby, watching three of them solemnly place the leaky little skiff at Ormssvärd's feet. "Should've brought a camcorder."

Marissa had to choke back her giggles before she could speak. "Steve, you're a nut. It was a nice idea…too bad you didn't think of it before we left Cambridge. How far away is that village he was talking about?"

"By my admittedly poor estimation, maybe half a mile from here or so," Steve mused. "I have a feeling it's going to be the site of the present-day village of Ormssvärd's Landing, and if that tree there looks as familiar as I think it does, this is probably right about where the royal cemetery is located. There's one huge, ancient elm in the cemetery, and I bet that's it right over there. We really are seeing the origins of an entire country, honey. Maybe this is the place for us after all. It'd be a privilege to see history unfold before us."

Marissa smiled wistfully. "But the barbarism…"

"Aw, they didn't kill that many," Steve said, looking a little uncomfortable. "Maybe fifteen or so men at the most. Once the villagers saw the lay of the land, they surrendered peacefully for the most part. But if Ormssvärd's ego's as big as I think it is, he won't let the sun set on us without at least announcing that he's going to recruit all able-bodied men to start chopping stone blocks for his monster of a castle."

"Don't forget, Steve, he started out with only eight rooms," Marissa reminded him. "For this day and age, that was extravagant. I think even he'd have been horrified by the size of the thing now." Steve chuckled and looked up.

"There they go," he said. "Off to the village. At least there we can find our own little house, with any luck, and maybe get some decent sleep, so we can decide if this is the place for us or not." She nodded, and they fell in behind Långsvärd and Rose as they always seemed to do.

The march to the village was made in silence; everyone was hungry when they walked down the one narrow dirt lane that comprised its main street, and six or seven men veered off to join wary-looking women standing in doorways watching, some with children. Ormssvärd, oddly, was not one of them; but as he and his remaining band neared the end of the lane, there was a shriek of terror and a loud slap that stopped them all in their tracks. Then a pretty blonde woman stumbled from the door of a small hut at their left, cringing as a man chased her out with fists upraised. Ormssvärd stepped neatly between the man and the woman, surprising the former and making both stop short.

"How is it that we missed you on our first trip here, then?" Ormssvärd inquired conversationally. "For I should have noticed any man who treats a helpless wench in such a fashion. Is this how you prove to the world that you are a man? If so, you fail mightily."

"You will not meddle," the man said, breathing heavily. They could see he was drunk on something. "The woman is mine to flay as I choose."

Ormssvärd smirked. "Easily done, for you know a wench is not a match for you. If you wish to show all and sundry that you are a man, then you should fight a man. And lo, here we have several! To save them the trouble, I volunteer myself."

"Your sword, Ormssvärd," Långsvärd said quietly.

"Think you I had forgotten it? Think again, my friend," Ormssvärd said with a grin and unsheathed a sharp, shiny blade. "I hope you are well prepared to defend yourself, you drunken waste of a man, for otherwise your life is forfeit and your wench is mine. For all that, I will take the wench anyhow, even if I let you live."

The drunken man let out a bellow of outrage and rushed Ormssvärd with fists in the air; Ormssvärd merely lifted his sword, and the man ran directly into it. Marissa felt the bile rise in her throat, whirled aside and lost whatever little she'd eaten that day. Steve winced; in front of them, Rose buried her face in Långsvärd's fur jacket just before impact, and Långsvärd himself lowered his head, turning aside at the same moment. Even the other Vikings muttered uneasily and shifted their weight.

"A vastly unfair fight that was, my liege," one ventured.

"You saw him, preparing to beat me senseless with his fists," Ormssvärd said tonelessly, tugging his sword out of the slowly collapsing corpse and wiping it clean on the man's tunic. "I merely defended myself; I did not even thrust." He turned to the one who had spoken and gave him a glare that dared him to challenge further. "I am ruler here, and if you try my patience and your luck any further, you will join this one in the grave."

"Frontier justice, Viking-style," Steve muttered, watching a very pale Marissa slowly straighten up and turn back towards him, gasping and clutching her stomach.

"I say we go on to the next destination when it's time for us to leave," Marissa said in a hoarse whisper, unable to look at the carnage. "I can't take this." Steve reached out and gently rubbed her back in long, slow strokes.

The blonde woman eyed Ormssvärd with trepidation. "He was my last chance at a husband," she said in a shaking voice. "What think you to do with me now?"

"Last chance?" Ormssvärd repeated, looking her up and down. "You hardly seem like a hag to me. You are not snaggle-toothed nor sagging, and you seem to be clean enough. How many winters have you seen?"

"Twenty-nine," the woman said dejectedly. "Far too old to find a man."

"Old you may be, but not so old that you do not appeal," said Ormssvärd with appreciation, "and you appeal to me. What think you of the prospect of becoming queen? For I am your new king, and this village is the first settlement in my kingdom. Upon your acceptance I shall have a grand stone castle built for us and our children, and our children's children, and their children for centuries hence. I myself have seen thirty-two winters and am certainly no ancient. If crone you are, then you are my crone."

The woman stared at him, then essayed a very tentative smile. "I see you are scornful of drunkenness, and of beating women, and you seem clean enough also. Perhaps it should not be a hardship to be wife to you, and that you are king cannot detract from this."

"Only watch him well," Långsvärd suggested unexpectedly, with a thread of humor in his voice, "for he has the habit of laying hands on that which does not belong to him."

"I have no need for such any longer," Ormssvärd replied in the same spirit. "You, young Irishwoman, may rest easy. I have found the one who shall warm my back at nights." Rose gave him a dirty look, and they all laughed, even Marissa. "Now, take that garbage away and toss it into the sea, that the monsters in the depths have something to dine on this night, and I shall take up residence with…" He paused. "What do they call you?"

"I am Gerda, my liege, and if I may ask your name?" she inquired shyly.

"I am Magnus Ormssvärd, ruler of this land and soon your husband," he told her with a wide grin. "We are well met this day, and we shall be well wed on the morrow. Perhaps alongside my friend Långsvärd here and his wench, the nameless one, eh?"

"Think you that you have need for my name now that you have acquired a betrothed wife?" Rose said mischievously. "If you are to have your way and become ruler over all in this domain, you will cease to allow us the use of your own name. Why, then, should I give you mine?"

Ormssvärd regarded Långsvärd with a sorrowful look. "My sympathies lie with you, friend, that you must deal with such a sharp-tongued wench."

"She has not honed that tongue on me," Långsvärd said wickedly, "but I shall remedy that this night." He gave Rose a significant look and she narrowed her eyes at him, making him burst into a surprisingly contagious laugh. Marissa giggled weakly.

"When we go back," she said softly to Steve, "I'm going to ask Mr. Roarke if he knows whatever happened to Thorsten Långsvärd and his Rose. I hope they get married and live for the next fifty years in peace and happiness. They're such a good fit."

"But they're not enough to make you want to stay here and see for yourself?" Steve asked curiously under the continuing laughter of those around them.

Marissa glanced behind them and shook her head. "No…after what I just saw here, I don't think I'm up to life in this culture either. There was teamwork and cooperation here, but there was barbarity too—a shocking degree of it. No, let's move on."

"You got it, honey," Steve acquiesced, then grinned. "But I gotta admit, in all honesty, it's been really stimulating. You know, this is the first culture of this whole trip that I got actively involved in, and it was fun."

Marissa sighed. "Your idea of fun baffles me." Steve laughed and slid his arm around her, leading her away to a small hut so she could rest.


	8. Chapter 8

§ § § -- Lilla Jordsö, autumn 1092

Christian and Leslie had managed to find an unoccupied one-room hut of their own, and it was here that they retreated in the dark of early evening following a surprisingly hearty feast of mutton, pork, freshly caught crab and salmon, turnips, cabbage and various fruits, washed down with ale and a sort of berry wine that was produced by the locals. Now pleasantly full, they sat on a raised earth platform covered by a woven rug, in each other's arms, ruminating over their day.

"The Originators Saga mentions that there were several small villages already in existence here when Ormssvärd and his men landed," Christian remarked. "The one we're in can't be anything but Ormsvärd's Landing in our time. There are three others that the saga names, which as far as the scholars have been able to determine are the sites of present-day Sundborg, Dalslund and Birka. That last was named for the predecessor to modern Stockholm, did you know that? It's our tribute to the country where our founders were born."

"I think I overheard Steve Karadimas say that the site where they placed the boat is where the royal cemetery is located," Leslie said, making him stare at her in surprise. "He saw an elm nearby and thought it looked like the big one that Arnulf's grave is located near."

"The Ancient Elm," Christian said softly, hugging her close and closing his eyes for just a moment. "Arnulf had always wanted to be buried near that tree. Mother and Father are interred not far away from it as well. Someday I'll show you, my Rose. So it seems that the reported location of the original landing is the true one."

She tipped her head up and kissed his bearded cheek, then drew back and rolled her eyes. "I take it back. I do like the long hair—there's something about it that makes you look like an irresistible rogue—but that beard has to go. Hey, just out of curiosity, are you still speaking _jordiska?"_

"I've spoken nothing but _jordiska_ since we stepped through that door from the time-travel room," Christian assured her, smiling. "And I still hear you speaking it back to me, just as Mr. Roarke said I would." He turned to face her fully, a light coming to life in his eyes, and spoke in a soft, deliberate tone. "All day long I've had to fight to keep from sneaking away somewhere with you and making love to you until we're both exhausted. Hearing my language from your lips has made me crazy this entire time."

"Has it?" Leslie murmured, a slow smile curving her lips. "I wonder what you'd hear if I said…" She sat up straight, leaned into him and whispered into his ear; Christian groaned aloud and began to tug at her woolen tunic.

"Doesn't this damned thing have buttons or fasteners at all?" he demanded.

"Not a one," Leslie said, standing and pulling it over her head. As luck would have it, the linen shift went with it, and Christian was lost. Yanking off the fur garment and padding the space behind her with it, he dragged her back down into his lap, wove his hands into the long red curls and kissed her, deeply and fervently. For quite some time neither spoke at all, whether in English or _jordiska_—only Leslie's soft, urgent cries of his name broke their wordless interlude.

The chill that had begun to pervade the room eventually brought them back to drowsy awareness, and Christian lifted her clothing from the floor. "You'd better put these back on, my darling," he murmured, stroking a lazy hand over her skin. "Soon it will be too cold to sleep as you are, no matter how much I prefer that you do."

Leslie smiled at that and pushed herself reluctantly to her feet, then swiftly donned the clothes in the deepening cold. "I hope it'll be time to go back soon," she admitted, resuming her place at his side and cuddling up to him. "I really think we'll be happier in our own bed."

"Agreed," Christian said. "I'll be happier to see you with your real hair back, too."

She laughed at that. "The beard will be gone too…but I'm gonna miss that hair." She reached out and playfully tugged at a lock of the shoulder-length hair he had worn throughout the day, and he flinched.

"Ouch," he muttered. "Go easy on me, wench."

"Where's that tough Viking now, you great oak of a man?" Leslie teasingly retorted, sitting up, and he laughed.

" 'Great oak', then? I don't know where you came up with that, but I've been called worse," Christian said, snickering. "Ah, come here, you little tease. I only hope Ormssvärd is finding the happiness with my multiple-great-grandmother Gerda that I have with you." He pulled her down for a long kiss, then smiled up at her. "I love you so much, my Leslie Rose."

She smiled back and said softly, "And I love you, my gorgeous Viking prince." That made him grin; but when he would have said something, a familiar voice broke in.

"Ah, good, you're both awake," said Roarke, making them turn to see him standing in the doorway in his familiar white suit. "It's time for you to go back; Professor and Mrs. Karadimas have already moved on to their next destination."

Christian and Leslie both got up, and Christian pulled the fur jacket back on. "I hope they weren't too deeply disillusioned by their visit here," he remarked.

"No more so than they already have been by their previous visits," Roarke said with a quiet chuckle. "I admit to being far more curious as to your impressions, both of you."

His daughter and son-in-law looked at each other, then joined hands and approached him. "Well, we certainly learned a lot," Leslie said. "Seems we've cleared up the legend of the big Founders' Swim, which came close to being no such thing, and discovered that the royal cemetery is much nearer to Ormsvärd's actual landing site than the village that was named for it. Oh yes, and I found out exactly what lengths Christian's willing to go to in his love for me. He was that close to killing his own ancestor for harming me."

Roarke straightened with surprise and stared at Christian. "Oh?"

Christian grunted, "The man had quite the ego. Little wonder he proclaimed himself king. My threats on him probably had no effect on it, and I find myself very much afraid that that very ego has filtered down through nearly forty generations and is taking up space in my stubbornly royal psyche."

Roarke and Leslie both laughed; seeing her father quickly consult his gold watch, Leslie teased, "We can psychoanalyze you later, my love. Right now, let's get back to our own time and our own home."

Sixty seconds later, Roarke delivered their present-day clothing and jewelry to them and left them alone to change clothes in the time-travel room. Christian checked his watch as he pulled it on, and said in surprise, "It's still early evening. Maybe we can sit on the deck for a while when we get home, enjoy the moonlight and listen to the ocean."

"Mmmm, that's a wonderful idea," Leslie said dreamily. "Ready?"

"Completely," he said, smiling, and took her hand to cross the room and slip out the door. Roarke, waiting on the other side, set the electronic lock.

"So you are off for home, then," he said. "You've earned a rest, both of you. Enjoy it."

"We will, Mr. Roarke," Christian said wholeheartedly. "I must thank you for the experience—and as well, for the compliment on my Viking-ship model. It took me nearly six months to complete, and gave me no end of headaches in the process, but it seems to have been worth the trouble."

Roarke smiled. "So it was. Very well, then, good night." He returned Leslie's quick hug, clasped Christian's shoulder for a moment, and watched them go.

Their car sat in the lane where they had left it that morning, and Leslie slid behind the wheel, putting them on the Ring Road in short order. A pleasant breeze swirled through the car as she drove, stirring their hair; Christian's hand strayed across the seat and settled on her thigh, earning him a smile from her. They let the comfortable silence have its way for the entire trip home, breaking it only when she pulled into their driveway. "Home sweet home," Christian murmured, yawning. "Shall we spend all day tomorrow in bed?"

Leslie parked, killed the engine and gave him a thoughtful look. "That all depends on what, exactly, you plan on doing in that bed." That made him pause long enough to shoot her a _well, duh_ look. It was all she needed to make her burst out laughing; he joined in, and they got out and headed for the house arm in arm.

Just inside the front door, he caught her and kissed her as he'd done in another time and place, weaving that same drugging spell around her, and when they broke she was clinging to him as though she couldn't stand up on her own. "I'll go up and change," she said breathlessly. "Meet you there." Christian smiled, set her back from him, followed her down the foyer, and watched her climb the spiral staircase before heading for the lamp they kept on a timer to shut it off for the night. Halfway there, the doorbell rang, stopping him cold.

The clock said almost nine. "Who on earth could that be?" he muttered aloud and retraced his footsteps. He pulled open the door, asking, "Yes, what can I—" only to freeze with sheer shock.

"Trick or treat!" shouted two children's voices. But he couldn't see their faces. He saw two pairs of yellow ruffled pedal-pusher pants, two identical yellow sleeveless tops with ruffled collars, two pairs of scuffed sneakers (one in red, one in dingy white), and two white cloth sun hats—and that was all. The clothing seemed to be suspended in mid-air, moving of its own accord as if alive.

Christian sucked in a noisy gasp, which served to make him realize that he had even forgotten to breathe in his stunned astonishment, and stumbled back two steps. _"Leslie!!"_ he shouted, still gaping.

Seconds later he heard her footsteps pounding down the stairs and across the living room. "Christian, my darling, what's the matter?" she cried in a panic.

"Look!" he sputtered, pointing at the apparition on the doorstep. Leslie peered past him, shot up straight with surprise, and then burst into laughter.

"You two little devils!" she exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing here at this hour? You know you've both got school tomorrow."

"We know, Miss Leslie," said Brianna Harding's voice, "but Mom said you ought to get to see what we looked like at our class party. And Mr. Roarke said that was only fair, so he gave Mom two potions for me, and Noelle's mom got two for her."

"And we took one at school, and the other one before we came here," Noelle Tokita's voice took up the excited narrative. "And guess what, Miss Leslie, we won for the most original costume! Our teacher loved it!"

"That's great!" Leslie said cheerfully. "You guys really do look like twins—good for you!" She was rewarded with delighted giggles.

"Can we still have some candy?" Brianna asked hopefully.

Leslie rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Oh, I guess so, but you better not eat any till you have lunch at school tomorrow. Wait here a second." She ducked into the kitchen and headed for a cabinet. Christian was right on her heels.

"How can you be so cavalier about this?" he demanded in an urgent whisper. "Do you know what ran through my mind when I saw those two like that? Leslie, I all but had cardiac arrest right there in front of those little girls!"

Surprised, Leslie turned to stare at him. "My gosh, Christian, it's just the invisibility potion they wanted to use for Halloween. Are you all right? You look a little pale."

Christian shuddered visibly. "I don't wonder. If Maureen and Myeko put those girls up to that, then I'm going to explain to them in minute detail exactly what happened to me when they sent them over here."

Leslie giggled and kissed his cheek. "Lighten up, my love, it's not worth a guilt trip. Give me half a minute and they'll be on their way home." She rummaged around in the cabinet, unearthed a bag of miniature candy bars and took it out to the foyer, dumping a fistful into each child's goodie bag. "There you go, and happy Halloween."

"Thanks, Miss Leslie, happy Halloween!" the girls cried and tore off across the Enstad property, over the lane and up through the Hardings' yard, where Leslie could see a large jack-o-lantern glowing in the front window. She grinned and watched till she saw the two bobbing sets of clothing disappear inside the Harding house, then closed the door and locked it for the night. Christian was still in the kitchen, hugging himself and peering out the window with a disgruntled expression.

"I've decided I hate Halloween," he announced grumpily.

Leslie laughed again, putting away the candy bars and sliding her arms around him. "Poor baby," she crooned. "And all you wanted to do was sit on the deck and bask in the full moon, didn't you? We still have time to do that, my love, come on."

Christian scowled, took her hand and planted it directly over his heart. "Feel that," he commanded. "I'm still not back to normal."

"I wasn't going to let it get back to normal," Leslie teased gently, tracing his lips with one finger. "If you give me a chance, I'll double your heart rate myself, and for a much different reason." She gave him a coaxing smile and replaced her finger with her lips; he submitted, but not with the enthusiasm she'd hoped for. "Christian, what's wrong?"

He shook his head. "I don't know," he said, hugging himself again.

Leslie's playful mood fell away and she stared at him in surprise. "Are you cold?"

"Yes," Christian murmured and peered at her in puzzlement. "Aren't you?"

"No…" Leslie frowned, and on some instinctive hunch laid a hand across his forehead. She gasped. "Christian, you're burning up!"

"What?" he said, confused by the slang.

"You have a fever, my love," she said with alarm. "Come on, you've got to get into bed right now. Where on earth could that possibly have come from? You were fine all day—" The thought of their adventure stopped her and she groaned. "It must have been the trip through time. You must've caught something from one of those buddies of your ancestor's…maybe even the self-proclaimed king himself." She led him through the living room and up the steps; he followed, silent and unresisting, and by the time they got into the bedroom, she could actually see him shivering. "If I could go back in time and deck the lot of them for making you sick, I would. Get your clothes off, my love, quick."

Christian gave her a wistful smile as he started to undress. "Normally that order would have me undressing you first, but I don't think I'm capable of that just at the moment. Don't panic so, my Rose. I've had fevers before. I suppose I should warn you in advance that I can be a difficult patient, though. My sister could tell you stories."

"Uh-oh," muttered Leslie, sighing. "Just what I need. What happens to you, do you get imperial or something, like you do under the influence?"

"No, not that," Christian said with a shaky laugh, stepping out of his jeans, "but once the illness really takes hold, I'm helpless. It seems I truly will be spending all day tomorrow in bed, though not the way I'd planned." He hugged himself again and clamped his jaw shut.

Leslie found a pair of the cotton drawstring pants he usually wore to bed and handed them to him. "Maybe I should call Father…I've never dealt with this before. I was always the one who had the fevers, the few times anyone did. Chicken soup and medicine…"

Christian regarded her in amused surprise. "Didn't you h-hear me? I s-said you shouldn't p-panic so. _H-herregud_, I d-don't need th-this." His teeth were actually chattering as he spoke, and again he clenched his jaw in an attempt to stop it.

He pulled on the pants, watching her sprint off to the bathroom to check the medicine cabinet, muttering aloud: "…miserable viruses, who knows but they were different back in 1092…better hope modern-day cures work on these things…oughta go back and slay some Vikings in their sleep…" She came back out to find him laughing. "Christian Enstad, get into that bed right now. You shouldn't be up. And here, take some of this."

Obediently Christian rounded the bed to his side and crawled in, still chortling. "I can see I'm going to be pampered very nicely," he teased her, taking the medicine she gave him, then rolling onto one side and pulling the covers securely over his shoulder. Leslie could see the light blanket trembling with his shivering and threw the comforter up and over him as well, then leaned over and hugged him one-armed, covers and all.

"You'll be warm in a bit, my love," she murmured, kissing his cheek again. "We never should have made you go back. Should've listened to that remark you made this morning about booster shots…we just never thought…"

Christian rolled back enough to stare up at her. "Leslie, my Rose, that's more than enough. It's only a fever, and it will run its course in due time. Don't blow it out of proportion, all right? Don't make yourself crazy worrying, and for heaven's sake, don't sit up all night waiting for me to go delirious from this thing. You'll do me no good if you don't take care of yourself. Go and do what you do before bed, and then come here and keep me warm. Fuss any more and you'll be exactly like Mariki."

This had the desired effect: Leslie growled deep in her throat and glared at him, and he grinned. "I'll get you for that, Christian Enstad. Okay, okay, I'm going."

A few minutes later she doused the last light, opened the window to pick up the freshening night breeze, and got into bed next to him. They huddled close together, Leslie stroking his back in an attempt to alleviate his persistent shivering; he smiled at her, then lifted himself up and rolled her onto her stomach, much to her surprise. "What're you doing?" she asked.

He pushed her nightshirt up to bare her back. "Just making sure there's no lasting damage from Ormssvärd's blow this morning. Lie still and let me give you a back rub."

She lifted her head and gaped at him in astonishment. "But you're…"

"Feverish, my cherished wife, not feeble," he said, kissing her. "I'm no invalid, and I'm not helpless. I'm just worried about you. Besides, any excuse to touch you…"

"Impossible, incorrigible rogue," she murmured, his slow, gentle stroking delivering a surprisingly devastating effect on her. "I can't resist you…"

"I know," he replied impishly and kissed her once more. "Now lie down and be quiet, and enjoy this, all right?" She smiled dreamily and subsided to his ministrations. By the time he finished, however, Christian had thrown the covers back, now overheated from the fever and his exertions. Leslie felt the heat radiating from him and stared at him.

"Go to sleep," he said, seeing the worried light in her eyes and smiling in reassurance. "I'll be asleep myself soon. I love you, my Rose."

She sighed. "I love you too…oh, Christian…"

"Stop," he said quietly, shushing her. "It's going to be all right." He slowly stroked her hair for the next fifteen minutes, till she had finally fallen asleep; then he sighed, lay flat on his back atop the covers in an attempt to catch the brisk night breeze, and drifted off.


	9. Chapter 9

§ § § -- November 1, 2001

Distant thunder brought Leslie awake the next morning and she half sat up; the curtain at the window was flapping energetically in the breeze, and the room was pleasantly cool. Not to Christian, she noticed in the next second. He lay on his back, shivering in his sleep, and she winced and covered him, testing his forehead again. He was still too warm. Sliding out of bed, she went to the window and closed it, gazing over the treetops behind the house at the ocean. Even from here she could see whitecaps on the water.

"_Varfor står du där, bortifrån mej?"_ she heard a weak voice from behind her, and turned to see Christian squinting at her, barely awake but shivering visibly. Leslie immediately went back and squatted next to his side of the bed, smoothing back his hair.

"You're cold, my love, aren't you?" she murmured. He nodded, and she kissed his cheek and arose. "Wait here a minute." She went to the bathroom to get another dose of the medicine she had given him the night before; when she came back he had fallen asleep again, and she put the bottle on his nightstand and knelt next to him. The story Arnulf had told them the day before he'd died, about Christian having had pneumonia as a baby, came back to taunt her, and she bit her lip almost hard enough to draw blood. "No way," she muttered aloud with determination and arose again, dressing swiftly in shorts and a tank top and then going downstairs to call Fernando.

Tabitha, who was still her husband's receptionist, picked up. "Dr. Ordoñez' office."

"Hi, Tabitha, it's Leslie. Do you think Fernando can come out to our house sometime today? Christian has a fever, and I don't know what it's a symptom of."

"How bad is it?" Tabitha asked in concern. "Did you take his temperature?"

"No," Leslie said, rolling her eyes at her own omission. "I guess I was too worried about him to remember to do that. I gave him some medicine last night, and was going to this morning, but he fell asleep again. Frankly, I'm a little scared. Just before his brother died, he told us that Christian spent two weeks in the hospital with pneumonia when he was only three months old, and that story keeps replaying in my head."

"I wouldn't let that bother me if I were you," Tabitha said comfortingly. "Infantile pneumonia won't have any bearing on a fever in adulthood. Don't tell me, Leslie, this is the first time you've seen Christian sick, isn't it?"

"How'd you know?" Leslie asked.

Tabitha laughed. "Because you're so jittery. Don't worry, Leslie, I promise, Christian isn't going to die, and he isn't going to wind up a vegetable or stuck in a wheelchair. Do you have any idea where he might have caught whatever's causing the fever?"

Leslie caught herself up short. "Uh…well, I do, but…"

"Oops, it must have some connection with a fantasy somehow, if you're reluctant to talk about it. Well, tell you what. If you can get Christian down here to the office, I'll have Fernando take a look at him. Give him some more of that medicine before you come here, and bring a blanket for him in case he's got the shivers."

"There's a storm coming," Leslie said inanely as more thunder rumbled outside.

"Well, the weather report says it's well offshore and supposed to stay there," Tabitha assured her. "You said he's asleep? You can wait till he wakes up again on his own—don't bring him around yourself, because sleep's one of the best things for him. Just give us a ring when you're about to bring him over, that's all."

"Got it," said Leslie. "Thanks, Tabitha, and thank Fernando for me too." She hung up and glanced out the French glass doors; the trees behind the house were swaying in the wind, but there was no rain. _Well, might as well let Christian sleep as long as he can,_ she thought and went to the kitchen, where she loaded the dishwasher and started it running. The noise it made was strangely reassuring, drowning out the occasional moaning of the wind around the corners of the house and making her feel oddly less alone.

Back in the living room, she was doing some dusting when she thought she heard something from upstairs, and immediately dropped everything and rushed up. Sure enough, Christian was awake again, looking disoriented; his expression cleared when she topped the steps and ran around to his side of the bed. "There you are. I'm freezing." His voice was hoarse, and she bit her lip anxiously.

"I called Fernando's office," she said. "Tabitha told me to bring you down there when you woke up. You had to have caught something from one of those damned Vikings."

Christian grinned. "Oh, I probably did. You can't think a common cold was so much different in the late eleventh century from its twenty-first-century counterpart." He shivered again and she tried to tuck the covers more securely around his shoulders. "I'm cold, but not that bad, my darling. I don't mind your taking me to see Fernando, as long as he can figure out just what it is I have that's causing the fever." He tried to clear his throat and made a face. "I dreamed last night that I was singlehandedly building Ormsskägg's damned castle for him. When I woke up from it, I was actually tired."

Leslie had to laugh. "Good thing you didn't call him that to his face," she teased. "If you can get up and get some clothes on, I'll get a blanket for you and we'll go to Fernando's office. Oh, and take some of that too." She indicated the medicine bottle on the nightstand; he nodded and sat up with an effort. Downstairs the phone rang and she groaned. "We need an extension up here," she complained, running for the stairs.

"No, not in the bedroom," Christian contradicted. She threw him a look but kept going, and grabbed the living-room extension.

"Leslie, I am terribly sorry to bother you this early in the morning," Roarke said. "Did you sleep well last night?"

"Well enough, under the circumstances," Leslie said. "Christian's developed a fever, and we're getting ready to go down to Fernando's office."

"Has he!" Roarke exclaimed. "I apologize, Leslie…it must have come from your trip. That was why I called—it occurred to me that you and Christian might wish to record your observations from yesterday."

Leslie laughed. "I'm not sure what it would be worth. Considering the way we obtained the information, I doubt we'd meet with much more than skepticism from the so-called experts. Even the Karadimases would say that, I'm sure."

Roarke chuckled. "I had it in mind that you might have preferred to keep a record for your own sakes, lest Christian especially fall back into believing the reconstructed history he was taught in school. But if he is ill, that takes precedence. Tell me, child, did he do anything you particularly remember as having been a possible cause?"

"I don't know," Leslie murmured, thinking back across their day. "As far as I know, he wasn't around anyone who was obviously sick. I just figured it was the gap in time, and possible mutations of viruses across the centuries, and…" She stopped as a memory came back to her. "Wait a minute…he took a swim in the North Sea early on. It was during the flight from the Viking ship—everybody crammed into this leaky little boat and rowed most of the way, then jumped out and swam the last distance, maybe fifty yards or so. Christian was the last man out of the boat and insisted that Mrs. Karadimas and I stay in it while he pushed us to shore. He seemed okay then, but now…"

"I understand, Leslie," Roarke said. "By all means, then, go and consult with Dr. Ordoñez, and when you return home please let me know the verdict. And do apologize to Christian for me. I never anticipated that contingency."

"As I've told you before, Father, nobody's perfect," Leslie said and laughed again. "It's not your fault, I think it was just Christian trying to be a macho Viking. I'll call you later." She hung up after Roarke's amused goodbye and returned upstairs, where Christian, now up and dressed, was just knocking back a dose of medicine.

"Who was that you were saying something to about my being a macho Viking?" he asked, making a face. _"Herregud,_ that tastes awful. I must have been in bad shape last night that I didn't notice it then."

She grinned. "It was Father. I explained to him about your fever, and it came to mind that it could have been that polar-bear swim you took in the effort to fit in with your ancestor and his pals. Come on, let's get down to Fernando's office before Tabitha's prediction about that storm turns out to be wrong."

§ § § -- November 4, 2001

"Well, here it is—the last destination," Steve Karadimas said with a little sigh, "the sixteenth-century discovery of the rainbow-gem mines on Arcolos, just five years after they declared their independence. The watershed point in their history: they went from a poor, struggling country constantly being invaded by its neighbors to a prosperous and fairly powerful one. All it took was threats to take those gems off the world markets, and other governments backed right down."

Marissa nodded slowly. "And it happened within another five years—an incredibly short span. I'd like to know exactly how they turned themselves around so fast. Which point did you have in mind when you came up with this one?"

"The weeks and months immediately following the discovery, when the original mine was opened near the east-coast city of Li Ciento, in the foothills of the Maragna Mountains nearby. Some one of the days in that time period—where you can see the impact the gems had on the local economy and the country's importance on the global stage."

"Then this should be interesting," Marissa said. "Let's do it."

They performed the ritual for the last time, and when they opened their eyes again, they were on a busy, bustling dirt lane, with people and horses everywhere. Now and then a tailless cat darted across, nimbly dodging feet and hooves. The noise of human voices was a pervasive babble not too far away. Steve and Marissa, looking around them, could see that the area was already in a state of economic transition: some people were dressed expensively, others were clad in patched, worn rags and often had no shoes. Seagulls wheeled through the air, screeching as only seagulls can; they looked up in surprise at the birds, then followed the flight of one as it sailed southward—and saw what was unmistakably the royal palace under construction on a high mesa, overlooking the town. "I thought we were going to wind up in Li Ciento," Steve said in surprise. "This has to be Santi Arcuros, since we see the palace up there."

"I always wanted to see this city," Marissa said. "I'm sure it doesn't look like this in our day, of course…"

Steve thought. "If I remember correctly, this country declared its independence only five years ago, from where we stand right now. The man who was then mayor of the town was anointed the first king of Arcolos. Paolono the First, I think. The mine near Li Ciento must have been opened long enough ago that the wealth's already trickling down…from the top, naturally. There's no question in my mind that rainbow gems are paying for that grand palace up there. See the way the sun reflects off those walls? That's marble."

Marissa gazed at it and sighed. "How lovely. It won't be so long before this whole city starts transforming itself, will it? Already you can see people nicely dressed…"

"Right," Steve said, in lecture mode now, while his wife watched in amusement. "They'd be the nobility, mainly. The workers will get their share, but it'll be at least another year before they start to reap the rewards. And of course, there were—" He broke off as the realization came to him, and he stared into space, sagging as if in defeat.

"Steve, what's wrong?" Marissa asked.

Before he could reply, screams went up in the near distance, and they looked around to see a large fight some little way up the lane from where they stood. Horses shied and people shouted; most of the better-dressed ones turned and ran. Some were caught by the more poorly-clad and mobbed for their possessions. Steve grabbed Marissa and dragged her with him into the doorway of the nearest building, which happened to be a bakery.

"Ah, my good master and mistress," said a weary voice from behind them. "Come to escape the latest upheaval of the day, have you?"

"It will end," Steve said, shaking his head. "It _will_ end. All will be prosperous in time."

"Not soon enough for the less fortunate," the voice said, and Steve and Marissa watched the portly man step out from behind a polished wooden counter and slowly cross the room towards the windows, gazing sadly at the fracas in the street. "Those at the bottom of the local food chain have grown tired of waiting their turn, and wish their share of the wealth immediately." He met their gazes and smiled. "You and I, who found ourselves in a better station in life, have already begun to enjoy the fruits of their labor, and I confess to a bout with snobbery at times. Many's the hungry urchin I've chased from my establishment, when they wanted only something sweet to break the monotony of their daily diet of bread and cabbages. There's little else the poor can afford. Everyone wishes to work in the gem mine, but there aren't enough jobs."

"But it's such grueling, dirty work," Marissa protested.

"Workers fortunate enough to be employed in the mine receive a share of the wealth sooner than those who are not," the baker said gently. "Perhaps not so soon as the nobility and the merchant class, but they are the first of the laborers to come into their own wealth. And sadly, most of these are in Li Ciento, since it's the closest town to the mine. Efforts are already under way to find more sources of those gems closer to Santi Arcuros and other towns west of the Maragnas, to provide employment for the masses and quiet the unrest. Yet there has been no success, and it has been discussed to enlarge the current mine."

"So quickly, the gems are a success," Steve mumbled.

"So very quickly," the baker agreed. "Can't decide yet if they're a curse or a blessing. The king is helpless. He wasn't mayor for very long, and now that he has a crown upon his head and responsibility for a country rather than a mere town, he is out of his depth. As fast as the gems reach the market and bring back much-needed revenue, the discontent grows still faster. Demand is beginning to outpace supply, and unless we are lucky and do manage to either expand the mine or open another, we will find ourselves beset upon by other countries that hope to undermine our new independence and take over our assets."

Marissa said with a frown, "What shape is the military in?"

The baker peered at her. "You are not from our humble little country, madame, are you? It's my hope you are not a spy for some foreign government…"

"Continental tour," Marissa said with a faint smile; in a way, it wasn't so far from the truth. "We wanted to see these gems for ourselves, perhaps purchase some if possible."

"It's entirely too possible," the baker remarked with a wry smile. "Those who do not dig up the gems either prepare them for sale, sell them, or buy them. My own wife would not rest until I gave her a ring with one of those gems in it. Never mind that it cost me half a month's pay, she must have it. I've thought perhaps I myself should get into the game, and assure myself of a steady income, but then again, people do have to eat." He swept his arm through the air around him. "Though, of course, there are those who believe one can subsist on money and precious stones instead of food."

"Then they're fools," Marissa said, glaring at the riot. "That's the price of instant prosperity. Everyone wants his share, and he wants it now. Those who have it are the victims of those who don't. Can't the military come in and put an end to all this?"

"We barely have a navy," said the baker, "and no standing army at all. Our eyes were on the surrounding countries, for throughout our history we have constantly been invaded, most especially by France and Italy—the two sources of our ancestors. They're not the only ones, mind you, but they are the most frequent. Our attention had to be concentrated on protecting our shores from outside invaders. It was never thought that we would have to protect our own citizens from one another."

"So why doesn't the king set up a standing army?" Marissa demanded. "It would provide employment for those who couldn't get work in the mine, for one thing."

"Who will train them, my lady?" the baker asked. "The king himself was a nobleman before he was the mayor. So useless, to anoint nobility to such lofty positions. They expect others to do all their work for them. We have a government, but they're nearly as inept as the king. It seems necessary to call upon our old nemeses for assistance…and wouldn't they simply leap at the opportunity to come in and suborn us, under the guise of helping us."

Steve said slowly, "Switzerland…I remember something about an offer they made…"

The baker eyed him in astonishment. "Switzerland?"

"Steve…that was 1538," Marissa whispered into his ear.

He looked at her; they both knew full well that Arcolos had survived its first few years of independence, and all the riots following the opening of the first rainbow-gem mine, to settle into prosperity. But it was tempting to try to speed things up a little. He took a breath and nodded, phrasing his words carefully. "Switzerland is famous for its army, as I'm sure you know, my good sir. They're a small country as well, and they've had to be diligent in guarding their own borders, just as you've had to defend your shores. Perhaps, if word could be sent to the king, someone could dispatch an official request for help to the Swiss people. Negotiations could be made to pay with rainbow gems, perhaps…"

The baker stood staring at them, his eyes thoughtful. He glanced into the street, at the riot that was finally beginning to peter out, then cleared his throat. "Perhaps you have a solution." He straightened and gave them a slight bow. "My brother runs a reputable inn whose building backs onto mine. Before you are trampled in the streets by these beggars, let me take you there through the private family access. You will have a comfortable and safe place to stay, and you will be able to meet in peace with someone influential."

"You know someone?" Marissa asked.

"Baker I may be, but I have been friends with the current mayor for many years," their host said proudly. "He can make a suggestion to the government, perhaps even get the king's ear. In any case, while we all know how slowly government moves in the best of times, it's better to make this known now, so that perhaps we will be able to make our request to the Swiss government before we perish of our own wealth, or something worse. In this, the trying year of 1537, we all have a wish for the restoration of peace, and perhaps if we act now, we will have some help before the close of 1538." He smiled wryly. "Come now, let's move quickly. I believe there is no time to waste."


	10. Chapter 10

§ § § -- Santi Arcuros, Arcolos – 1537

Half an hour later Steve and Marissa were in a quiet, if cramped, little room on the second floor of the baker's brother's inn, left with a bottle of wine and a basket of bread and muffins, and were staring at each other. Steve was hopeful, Marissa simmering. "You're trying to change history, Stephen Karadimas," she said accusingly.

He jolted and gawked at her. "Marissa, Roarke never said a word about changing history. He never told us it wasn't possible, nor did he forbid us from attempting it. And for crying out loud, this would be a change for the _better!_ Besides, you yourself said that the Swiss government made the offer in 1538. Right now it's sometime in 1537, according to that baker. Depending on the month—or maybe even not—it could very well be 1538 before the request even gets to the ears of some influential Swiss. And if we're going to stay…"

"How do you know I want to stay?" Marissa demanded. "What if I want to go back to one of the cultures we've already visited?"

Steve finally lost his temper. "Marissa, will you listen to yourself? Every time we came back from one of our visits, you were horrified at the carnage and the brutality that went on, the poor living conditions of far too many people and the sheer indifference of those in a position to do something about it. You cringed at the filth and destitution we saw in sixteenth-century London. You were almost fed to some pagan god in Tenochtitlán, and that scared you out of living with the Aztecs. You were completely disillusioned when the peaceful Australian Murri tribe turned out to be less than peaceful once threatened. You wanted to punish every Roman in sight for cheering the deaths of gladiators for sport. You threw up when Magnus Ormssvärd ran his sword through a drunken wife-beater. You cried and screamed at sight of Hawaiian Polynesians going through gory self-flagellation rituals at the death of their leader. You got sick yet again when we witnessed King Philip's War in what's now southeastern Massachusetts and part of Rhode Island—this after telling Roarke and his daughter that the Narragansett Indians had always intrigued you. When Peter the Great turned out to be a cold and unfeeling czar who regularly executed those whose only 'offense' was to dress in the wrong color, you decided Russia was just too damn primitive and backward for you. Now you're all up in arms because Arcolos is having growing pains, yet you don't want me to offer any help when we're in a position to give it! Tell me, Marissa, what exactly have you been looking for in this fantasy, anyway?"

Marissa goggled at him, shocked beyond words. All she could do was make a tiny, strangled sound of protest and shake her head. Steve rolled his eyes. "Well, I don't know as we're gonna stay here," he said, "but here we have a chance to make a difference, and I'm damn well going to. If Roarke wants to read us the riot act when we get back, let him. I'm not letting this ride on my conscience for the rest of my life. We're going through with this, Marissa, and there's nothing you can do to stop me."

She finally found her voice, a creeping annoyance bubbling up at last. "But Steve… what if it isn't possible? What if history does what it always did, no matter how much effort you make? Did you think of that?"

He stilled and stared at her; it was clear that this hadn't crossed his mind. "Well," he said finally, "I have to try, that's all. We stood by and gawked like a couple of fools in all the other situations. Not this time. Not if there's something we can do. I just realized, Marissa, out there in the street when we first saw that riot flare up. Roarke tried to explain it to us before we ever even started this fantasy. Every time and place in history has its carnage, its brutality, its cruelty, its hatred. We're no different in our own time: we just have bigger and nastier weapons, that's all. About the only real difference is that we can commit war on a global scale instead of a local one. War is still war in any century, death is the same in every time and place, and the human struggle is eternal." He took in her stunned expression and the tears in her eyes. "It's true, Marissa, don't tell me it hasn't crossed your mind too. There's really only one thing we can do, and that's to try to make things better for ourselves and those we have influence on: our family, our friends, my students, your museum tour groups… anyone we can reach. Let me do this one thing, just jump-start history maybe a tiny bit…and then we've got to go home, honey. It was the only choice we ever really had."

He watched her shake her head in a daze, and then begin to cry as if the world were about to end. Stephen Karadimas enfolded his wife into his arms and let her deal with the realization in her own way. It had been no easier for him to accept what Roarke had tried to tell them their first day on Fantasy Island, but he knew in spite of his wishes to the contrary that there was nothing else they could do. He closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair, rocking her gently back and forth.

The sound of a door opening made them both look up and then start with shock: they were no longer in Santi Arcuros of 1537, but on Fantasy Island of 2001, in the room where they'd first begun their adventure a week before. Roarke stood in the doorway, regarding them with silent sympathy. Gently he said, "Your fantasy is over."

"But…we never had the chance…" Steve began to protest.

"History cannot be changed," Roarke broke in, still speaking in that quiet voice. "You had all good intentions, and that's quite understandable—and commendable. But you are well aware that the Arcolosian people had to, and did, find their own solutions."

"Why are we back here already?" asked Marissa, brushing at tears.

"Because you have both come to understand and accept the truth: that there is no truly peaceful period in human history, no refuge from the outside world. As you said, Professor Karadimas, this was the only choice you ever really had. Perhaps you cannot change things on a global scale, but you can certainly wield your share of influence over those you love and those you teach. Like the ripples in a pond, that influence and those words will spread outward from the source, and one day there will be a difference—if enough people are willing to try." Roarke smiled at them. "You no longer needed to remain in the past: you have finally learned to accept and embrace the present."

His guests looked at each other, Marissa through still-watery eyes, and Steve nodded slowly. "You're right, Mr. Roarke. You're right."

"I hope it's all right if we stay till our flight tomorrow morning," Marissa said. "We've spent all our time here running around history, and I think we should do your island the justice it deserves and just act like tourists for the day." She grinned sheepishly and added, "Modern-day tourists, that is."

They all laughed and Roarke nodded, stepping aside to allow them out. "By all means, please feel free to enjoy any and all attractions. Let yourselves relax. You've both earned it." They nodded and thanked him, then left the house with their arms around each other, both in silent contemplation. Roarke pulled the time-travel-room door closed, took care to lock it once more, and then leaned against it with a soft sigh and a lingering smile.

§ § § -- November 5, 2001

When Steve and Marissa Karadimas stepped out of the car at the plane dock Monday morning, they were astonished to see that Roarke was accompanied by a tall, very handsome younger man with an infectious grin and dark-brown hair. "What happened to your daughter, Mr. Roarke?" Marissa asked worriedly. "Is she all right?"

"She came down with a fever overnight," Roarke said. "This is her husband, Christian, who tells me it was all he could do to make her remain in bed."

"I hope you two enjoyed your fantasy," Christian said and shook hands with them. "I'm told it was traveling through time to various countries. It sounds fascinating."

"It was," Marissa agreed with a smile. "More than we knew."

Steve was peering at Christian with curiosity, squinting as if trying to place him; then he mumbled, "You know, you look familiar…"

Christian raised his eyebrows in mute question, and Marissa gasped. "My word, Steve, of course he looks familiar! Don't you recognize him? This is Prince Christian, of Lilla Jordsö! Your Highness, yours was one of the countries we visited in our fantasy!"

Christian grinned. "So I hear! What did you think of it?"

"It was very interesting," Steve observed diplomatically, and Christian and Roarke both laughed. "I noticed a lot of discrepancies between stated history and actual events, though. For one thing, that legendary swim those first Vikings took was mostly a boat trip; and the place known as Ormssvärd's Landing wasn't really the actual site. We have a guidebook printed up nine or ten years ago, and there are a lot of misstatements in that too. It says Birka was the first settlement when it was actually Ormssvärd's Landing; the book says it took place at sunset when it was actually sun_rise_…"

"Oh, Steve, stop disillusioning the poor man," Marissa scolded. "I'm sorry, Your Highness. Steve's a stickler for detail."

"That's perfectly all right," Christian said, "and incidentally, technically you really shouldn't be addressing me as 'Your Highness' since my title was revoked. I'm afraid I still forget that myself. At any rate, it would be nice if somehow you could set our history straight—if only anyone would believe how you learned it." They all laughed.

"I'd just like to know where that Viking-ship model came from," Steve said. "I've been wanting to find out."

"Christian built it," Roarke said. "He was kind enough to lend it to us for the fantasy."

Steve shook his head. "Fabulous detail. It's exquisite. A shame Marissa couldn't display it in her museum."

Christian shrugged but looked pleased. "Thank you," he said. "I do hope you'll have a safe and pleasant trip home." Roarke echoed him; they all shook hands, and Steve and Marissa ambled to the plane dock.

Christian eyed Roarke then. "Tell me, Mr. Roarke…was there actually a Thorsten Långsvärd? I'm afraid our history knew the identity only of my ancestor, not any of those who came ashore with him."

Roarke regarded him with a faint smile, then said, "Perhaps it's better to leave some mysteries unsolved, Christian. And before you ask, no, I don't think you should check with Leslie. Consider yourself fortunate that our guests didn't recognize you as your alter ego, and be satisfied with that."

Christian sighed and said, "No wonder Leslie sometimes has a disgruntled look about her when I come to pick her up on Mondays." Roarke burst out laughing.  
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_Next up: Christian learns the hard way to believe what he's told. Stay tuned…_


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